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SIR  FRANCIS  BACON'S 


CIPHER  STORY 


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Sir  francis  Bacon's  (£ipfycr  Story, 


The  series  of  deciphered  writings  from  the  Shakespearean 
Plajrs,  the  stage  plays  of  Mario w,  the  works  of  Peele,  Green, 
Spenser  and  Burton,  has  reached  the  sixth  book,  and  others  in 
process  of  translation.  The  character  and  scope  of  the  mat- 
ter so  far  deciphered,  will  be  indicated  by  the  following 

SYNOPSIS. 


BOOK  I. 

Francis  Bacon's  Letter  to  the  Decipherer.  1 

Embracing  the  plan  of  the  work,  explanation  of  methods, 
and  reasons  for  writing  the  narrative  in  Cipher. 

Epistle  Dedicator//.  45 

To  him  who  shall  find  the  Cipher. 

Description  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  56 

Tfie  Curse.  61-67 

Upon  those  who  have  caused  his  humiliation. 

Francis  Bacorfs  Life.  97 

Discovery  that  he  was  son  of  Elizabeth.     Confirmation  by 
his  foster  mother,  Lady  Ann  Bacon. 

Description  of  the  Reign  of  Elizabeth.  154 

The  Queens  Last  Days.  170 

Strangled  by  Robert  Cecil.  184 

Lady  Ann  Bacon  recounts  to  Francis  190 

The  early  life  of  Elizabeth  and  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Mary. 

BOOK  II. 

Continues  200 
The  account  of  Elizabeth  ;  the  wooing  of  Leicester  in  the  202 
Tower ;  bribes  the  Holy  Friar  to  take  him  to  Eliza- 
beth ;  frightens  him  into  performing  the  marriage  cer-  224 
emony;  plotting  the  death  of  Leicester's  wife,  Ayme  226 
Robsart ;  Ayme  Robsart  visits  the  Queen ;  stormy  235 
interview ;  death  of  Ayme  Robsart.  248 


557498 


Seco)ttl  Miii'r''<i<t<  <>f  K  li."<il><'tli  <tn<l 

By  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  in  the  presence  of*  Lady  Ann  Bacon 
and  Lord  Puckering.  Account  interrupted  by  a  sum- 
mons from  the  Queen.  252 

(ti><!  Fi'uiu-'ix.     Banished  to  France.  256 


The  XjHiit'ixli  Ai'Htinlii.  263 

1'rologue.  Phillip  II  demands,  through  ambassadors,  the 
hand  of  Elizabeth  in  marriage.  The  alternative  of 
refusal,  the  wresting  of  the  Crown  from  her  "  unlawful 
hands  "  by  war.  Elizabeth's  reply  to  the  ambassadors. 
Pedigree  of  the  Queen.  Appearance  of  the  Spanish 
Fleet. 

The  Great  Storm.  377 

Bacon's  description.  Bacon  rescues  Don  Pedro,  the  Span- 
ish Commander. 

BOOK  III. 

The  Spanish  Armada  Continued.  401 

Bacon  visits  the  Queen  and  pleads  for  his  prisoner  Don  Pedro  459 

whom  he  rescued  from  drowning.     Entrance  of  Lord  489 

High  Admiral,  Capt.  Palmer  and  Sir  Anthony  Cook.  492 

Don  Pedro  before  the  Queen.     Plea  for  mercy.  493 

"The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd."  494 

The  Queen  "  aweary  of  his  speech,"  wishes  to  hear  the 

Admiral's  report  of  the  battle,  which   is  described.  495 

Capt.  Drake  tells  of  the  second  day's  battle.     Allegor-  498 

ical  description  giving  the  names  of  Spanish  and  Eng-  499 

lish  vessels  engaged.     Admiral  Howard  recounts  his  512 

part  in  the  fight.    Capt.  Drake  describes  the  storm.  526 

Capt.  Palmer's  experiences  in  the  German  Seas.  530 

Don  Martin,  a;  prisoner  before  the  Queen.  552 

Bacon  again  begs  for  Don  Pedro.  558 

Enter  sailors  with  letters.  566 

"  The  end  has  come." 
So  by  a  roaring  tempest  on  the  flood, 
A  whole  Armado  of  convicted  sail 
Is  scatter'd  and  disjoin'd  from  fellowship. 

Epilogue. 

Francis  Bacon^s  Life  at  the  Court  of  France 

BOOK  IV. 

Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  603 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  631 

Francis  Bacon  recurs  to  his  own  life.  650 

Hamlet.  652 

Discovery  by  the  Queen  that  Bacon  wrote  it,  and  the  fate 
of  the  first  copy. 

Tragedy  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  672 


Synopsis  of  "The  Historical  Tragedy  of  flary  Queen  of  Scots.'* 

ACT  I.—  Scene  /.—Interview  between  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Counsellor  Francis  Bacon.  The  Law  of 
Treason.  *  »  *  <_>ueen  Elizabeth  commands  the  presence  of  Leicester,  who  arranges 
to  bring  Mary  to  his  house  in  London  for  an  interview. 

Si  >•>/,'  .'  Banquet  room  at  house  of  Leicester.  Leicester  and  Mary  at  banquet  table.  Queen 
Elizabeth  secretly  enters;  hides  behind  statue.  Mary  proposes  marriage  to  Leicester, 
they  to  be  rulers  of  the  French,  English  and  Scottish  realms.  Elizabeth  steps  forth, 

••  J)uth  Scotland  make  your  Majesty  uur  judge?" 
Mary  iu  surprised  alarm, 

"Alas,  I  am   undone.'     ft  is  the  Queen." 

Interview  between  Elizabeth  and  Mary;  withdrawal  of  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 

ACT  II.— Scene  i.— In  front  of  Tower;  time,   midnight.     Stormy  interview  between  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  Leicester;  the  jealous  Queen  declares  his  banishment;  thrusts  him  away  and  enters. 
Leicester  in  rage : 

"/•//  empty  all  these  reins,  and  shed  my  blood 
Drop  by  drop  /'  //;'  eattli  ei  e  I  will  go  ! 
Let  mv  soul  want  meic\-  if  f  do  not  join 
With  Scotland,  i>i  her'behalf.  ' 

Enter  Francis  Bacon,  who  counsels  a  different  course.    Leicester  requests  Bacon  to 
plead  for  him  to  the  Queen. 

Scene  2.— Audience  room  of  Palace.  Bacon  pleads  for  Leicester;  calls  upon  himself  the  wrath 
of  the  Queen;  takes  leave. 

"  No  power  I  have  to  speak,  I  know. 
And  so, farewell,   I,  and  my  griefs  will  go." 

Enter  Leicester;  begs  that  he  be  not  banished;  Queen  repents. 
"Restrain  thy  apprehension;  I  will  lay  trust  upon  thee, 
And  thou  shall  find  f  will  preserve  and  love  thee. 

I  have  conferred  on  thee  the  commandment  of  mine  army  beyond  the  sea." 

ACT  111.— Scene  /.—Council  Chamber   of    Palace.       Lords  seated  at   table:    Queen  on  the  throne; 

Elizabeth  announces    that     Leicester  is  to  command   her  armies  in   Ireland.     Strongly 

opposed  by  the  Lord  Chancellor;  Leicester  accused  of  treason.    The  Queen  overrules  the 

council;  makes  him  General  and  administers  the  oath. 

Scene  2. — Council  Chamber— twelve  months  later      Queen  Elizabeth  presents  the  treasons  of 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots;  gives  letter  of  commission  for  her  trial. 

ACT  IV.  —  Scene  /.—  Room  in  Fotheringay  Castle;  lords,  knights,  captains,  lawyers  and  gentlemen  in 
attendance.  Queen  Mary  "before  the  Court;  notes  the  absence  of  the  English  Queen; 
demands  her  presence — Will  be  tried  by  her  peers,  and  not  by  servants  of  lesser  degree; 
Council  show  warrant.  Mary  denies  the  charges;  so  impresses  and  moves  the  Court  that 
Chief  Justice  suddenly  adjourns  the  Court  to  London,  fearing  that  by  her  eloquence  and 
beauty  she  be  acquitted 
Scene  2. — Room  in  Tower  of  London;  Court  convenes  to  convict  Mary;  Montague  speaks 

strongly  for  her;  members  cry  Guilt  v!  guilty! 
ACT  \.— Scene  i.— Palace  of  the  Queen,  Elizabeth  and  train. 

"Q.  E.  Fie,  what  a  slug  is  Il'ai  r, 'ick.  lie  comes  not 
To  tell  us  whether  they  will  that  she  shall  die  or  no. 
Ah!  In  good  time  here  comes  the  sweating  lord."  (.Enter  Warwick.) 

He  announces  the  decision  of  "  guilty."  Enter  Lords  of  Council;  they  present  Elizabeth 
the  warrant  for  Mary's  death  She  does  not  sign  it. 

"Q.  E.     My  lord,  I  promise  to  note  it  cunningly; 

But  here  come  the  ambassadors  of  our  brothers  of  France  and  Spain." 
Enter  ambassadors,  who  plead  for  the  life  of  Mary. 
Scenes.— Street  in  London.     Enter  Burleigh  and  Secretary-  of  the  Queen  (Davison);  met  by 

Leicester.     All  enter  a  public  house. 
Scene  j. — Private  room;  Burleigh  and  Leicester  force  the  Secretary  to  forge  the  Queen's  name 

to  the  warrant  for  Mary's  execution. 

Scene  4.— Chamber  in  Fotheringay  Castle— Queen  Mary  and  maids.    Enter  English  Lords. 
"(.'..I/.     Welcome,  mv  lords.-  Why  do  you  come.    Is'tfor  my  life? 
Lord  Shrezvsbury.    '  Tis  now  midnight,  and  by  eight  tomorrow  thou  must  be  made 

immortal. 

Q.  M.     How!    My  lord!     Tomorrow?  tomorrow!     Oh!  that's  sudden. 
Oh!  this  subdues  me  quite. 

*  *  *  * 

Good,  good  mv  lord,  iff  must  die  tomorrow. 

Let  me  have  some  reverend  person 

To  advise,  comfort  and  pra  v  with  me."     (This  is  refused. ) 

Scenes-— Hall  of  Fotheringay  Castle,  hung  with  black.    Platform  and  block  at  end.    English 
Lords  and  Gentlemen,  executioner,  and  assistants. 
Enter  Queen  Mary  dressed  in  black  and  red  velvet  gown.     The  executioner  assures  her 

"/  wi!l  be  as  speedy  in  your  death  as  all  the  poisonous  potions  in  the  world. 

And  you  shall  feel  no  pain." 
Mary  addresses  the  Lords,  denies  the  charges,  asserting  that  they  shed  innocent  blood. 

"And  if  you  tell  the  heavy  story  right. 

Upon  mv  soul  the  hearers  will  shed  tears, 

yea,  even  my  foes  will  shed  fast  falling  tears. 

And  say  it  was  a  piteous  deed  to  take  me  from 

The  world,  and  send  my  soul  to  heaven." 

*  *  *  * 

(She  kneels  and  prays): 

"  Oh  God,  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  receive  my  fainting  soul  again  !  Oh  be  thou  merciful .' 
And  let  our  princelv  sister  be  satisfied  with  our  true  blood  which,  as  Thou  know'st,  unjustly 
must  be  spilled  .'  Oh  God.  send  to  me  the  water  from  the  well  of  life,  and  by  my  death  stop 
effusion  of  Christian  blood  and  'stablish  quietness  on  every  side  !  I^t  me  be  blessed  for  the 
jbeace  f  make.  Amen."  (Rises.) 

"  Farewell,  sweet  Lords;  let's  meet  in  heaven. 
Good  my  Lord  of  Derby,  lead  me  to  the  block." 

(Speaks  to  Executionei.) 
FINIS. 


Queen  Elizabeth's  Dream.  -^ 

Her  indignation  and  horror  lit  the  death  of  Mary. 

"  Queen.  Who  hath  made  bold  with  the  great  seal,  and  \vho 
Hath  inscribed  my  name?  764 

Leicester.  Your  servant,  th'  secretary, 
Brought  the  warrant  to  us,  the  great  seal  stamp'd  upon't. 

Q.  Then  there  was  a  league  between  you  to  hasten  her 
Untimely  death." 

foreign  Ambassadors  Presented.  765 

The  Queen  explains  to  them  that  her  savage  council  have 
cruelly  slain  Mary,  and  declares  her  intention  to  hang 
her  secretary  for  insubordination, 

Bacon  Resumes  his  "Life  in  France"  767 

Interview  between  Bacon  and  Navarre.  771 

Prayer  of  Navarre.  782 

Intrigues  to  effect  his  escape  from  France.  786 

BOOK  V. 

Continues  Bacon's  "Life  in  France''1  801 

Bacon  discloses  to  Navarre  that  he  is  heir  to  the  throne  of 
England,  lawful  son  of  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 
Tells  of  his  banishment  and  espouses  Navarre's  cause. 

Navarre's  Attempt  to  Escape  Frustrated.  834 

The  grand  hunt;  Navarre's  flight. 

Bacon's  Visit  to  the  Huguenot  Camp.  871 

Report  of  same  to  Henry  III.  and  to  Margate t  of  Navarre. 
Plan  of  the  latter  to  escape  to  the  cam£. 

Bacon  Discloses  his  Love  to  Margaret.  926 

Ladder  of  cords.  Disappointment.  Interview  with  Friar. 
Farewell  to  Margaret. 

BOOK  VI 

(IN   PREPARATION.) 

Conclusion  of  Bacon's  "Life  at  the  Court  of  France."         1001 
Anjou's  desertion  of  the  Huguenots ;  his  trifling  successes 
magnified  ;  the  triumphs  or  fetes  in  his  honor. 
Catherine's  revival  of  "  The  Court  of  Love." 

Bacon  Returns  to  England. 

Stormy   interview  with  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 
Paulet  attempts  to  negotiate  a  marriage  between  Bacon 
and  Margaret.     Second  banishment.     Visit  to  Italy. 

Bacon  follows  the  Queen-mother  to  the  South. 
Public  Trial  of  Queen  Margaret. 

The  Assassination  of  the  Duke  of  Guise  and  the  Cardinal 
of  Lorraine. 

Henry  III.  and  Navarre  join  forces  to  besiege  Paris. 
Navarre  declared  Heir  to  the  Throne  of  France. 
Assassination  of  the  King. 
Death  of  Nicholas  Bacon;  Francis  Recalled  to  England. 

HOWARD  PUBLISHING  'cO. 
Detroit,  March,  1895. 


SIR  FRANCIS  BACON'S 


CIPHER  STORY. 


DISCOVERED  AND  DECIPHERED  BY 

ORVILLE  W.  OWEN,  M.  D. 


BOOK  V. 


DETROIT  : 

HOWARD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 

1895. 


Copyright,  1895. 
BY  OEYILLE  AV.  OWEN. 

All  rights  reserved. 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE. 


The  publication  of  Book  IV,  including  the  "Tragedy  of 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,"  in  the  form  of  a  play,  has  greatly 
increased  the  widespread  interest  in  the  Cipher  Story.  Very 
shortly  after  its  issue,  we  received  letters  from  England,  and 
many  parts  of  the  United  States,  noting  the  added  pleasure  in 
reading  the  book  from  the  addition  of  the  names  of  the  characters 
and  urging,  for  the  sake  of  clearness,  that  in  future  publications, 
they  be  inserted  in  the  dialogues.  The  introduction  of  so  great 
a  number  of  characters,  and  the  difficulty  of  identifying  them, 
by  those  not  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  period 
to  which  the  Cipher  relates,  was  not  foreseen,  and  the  now 
apparent  inadequacy  of  the  quotation  marks, .heretofore  used 
and  referred  to  in  these  letters,  has  induced  us  to  change  the 
style,  and  repeat  the  historic  names  of  the  speakers  as  they 
appear.  In  the  discourse  between  Bacon  and  the  decipherer, 
however,  changes  of  type  and  quotation  marks  will  be  used  as 
heretofore.  Thus  will  be  combined  narrative  and  dialogue  as  in 
Francis  Bacon's  work  "An  Advertisement  Touching  an  Holy 
War." 

Students  have  recognized  histories,  in  the  Shakespeare 
Plays,  other  than  those  indicated  by  historic  titles,  but  have 
found  irreconcilable  inconsistencies  in  apparently  fictitious  and 
misplaced  names  given  to  actors  in  the  events  recorded.  These 
names,  in  the  1623  Folio,  are  usually  printed  in  italics,  and 
are  but  maskings.  When  transposed  by  the.  translation  of  the 
Cipher  to  their  proper  nlaces,  the  hidden  histories  are  found  to 
be  authentic. 

HOWARD  PUBLISHING  CO. 

Detroit,  March,  1895. 


PREFACE. 

In  Book  III  of  the  Cipher  Story,  'I  took  pleasure  in 
acknowledging  the  aid  of  my  assistants  in  the  preparation  of 
that  volume.  Their  work  had  then  demonstrated  that  the  cor- 
rect use  of  the  Cipher  could  be  acquired  by  others. 

The  present  volume,  Book  V,  is  entirely  their  work,  and 
until  in  print,  I  purposely  refrained  from  reading  or  hearing 
read,  any  of  this  part  of  Bacon's  Story  of  his  Life  in  France. 
Mi^s  Ollie  E.  AVheeler,  extracted  from  the  original  Shakespeare 
Plays,  from  Bacon's  acknowledged  works,  and  those  attributed 
to  Marlowe,  Greene,  Peele,  Spenser  and  Burton,  the  passages 
around  the  guides  and  numerous  keys.  Mrs.  Elizabeth  W.  Gallup 
and  Miss  Kate  E.  Wells,  have  deciphered  and  woven  these  pas- 
sages, by  the  rules  of  the  Cipher,  into  the  poetic  form  in  which 
they  are  presented. 

These  ladies  liave  also  prepared  the  matter  for  Book  VI, 
which  will  complete  the  account  of  Bacon's  Life  in  France,  and 
be  issued  shortly. 

I  congratulate  my  assistants  upon  their  work,  and  the 
world,  upon  this  unanswerable  proof  of  the  certainty  of  the 
Cipher  system. 

I  also  congratulate  myself  that  whatever  may  happen,  the 
important  results  of  my  ten  years'  study,  will  not  be  lost,  and 
that  the  work  I  have  undertaken,  will  not  depend  solely  upon 
one  life  for  successful  completion. 

ORVILLE  W.  OWEN. 
Detroit,  March,  1895. 


BOOK  V. 

Sir  fcands  Bacon's  Sife  at  Ojc  (Court 
of  fcance. 

(CONTINUED.) 


Navarre.  Yes,  arm  thyself  to  answer  mildly,  cousin ; 
Tut,  tut,  thou  art  all  ice,  thy  kindness  freezes. 

Count  M.  Why  there's  no  more   that's   to   be  said, 
Navarre. 

N.  Are  these  thy  fruits  of  wit,  thy  sight  in  art, 
Thy  eloquence,  thy  policy  to  mock 
Thy  prince  ?     Then  caitiff  pack  thee  hence ! 

C.  M.  Good  lord,  how  rage  gainsayeth  reason's  power ! 
My  dear,  my  gracious  and  beloved  prince, 
The  essence  of  my  soul,  my  God  on  earth, 
I  fear  my  counsel  will  offend. 

N.  Tell  all,  spare  naught. 

C.  M.  Alas,  my  soul !  why  art  thou  torn  in  twain, 
For  fear  thou  talk  a  thing  that  should  displease  ? 

N.  Give  me  thy  hand :    now  do  I  play  the  toucn 
To  try  if  thou  be  current  gold  indeed. 
Say,  have  I  thy  advice  and. thy  assistance? 

C.  M.  Give  me  some  little  breath,  some  pause,  dear 

lord, 
Before  I  positively  speak  in  this. 


802  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

2T.  Cousin,  thou  wast  not  wont  to  be  so  dull. 
Shall  I  be  plain?     I  wish  it  suddenly  perform 'd. 

C.  M.  Whither  away  so  fast? 

N.  I  promise  you 

I  scarcely  know  myself;  but  to  the  Duke, 
By  God's  good  grace,  I  hope  to  speed  ere  long, 
Hasten  his  musters  and  conduct  his  powers. 

C.  M.  Why  do  you  go  Navarre?     Budge  not  a  foot 
To  aid  in  war ;  and  if  my  words  do  savor 
Any  worth,  meditate  on  naught  I  pray, 
But  to  be  friends  with  th'  King. 

N.  Better  to  go 

Than  tarry  and  be  hang'd !     Since  that  our  liege 
Has  so  unkindly  dealt,  no  trust  I  give  him. 
Why  should  a  prince,  whose  power  may  command, 
Obey,'  be  govern'd  and  suppress'd  by  will  ? 
I  will  employ  my  busy  brains  for  war. 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me.     I  go  about  it,  be  it 
Either  for  death,  for  fine,  or  banishment, 
Insisting  on  the  old  prerogative 
And  power  i'  th'  truth  a'  th'  cause; 
And  he  that  will  not  follow  Bourbon  now, 
Let  him  die  in  shame,  in  eternal  shame. 
If  any  man  doth  mean  to  shrink  from  me, 
I  will  lay  down  for  him  such  reasons  now, 
For  this  adventure,  Count,  that  he  shall  go. 
'Tis  time  to  arm,  and  more  than  I  have  said, 
The  leisure  and  enforcement  of  the  time 
Forbids  to  dwell  on ;  yet  remember  this, 
God,  and  our  good  cause,  fight  upon  our  side, 
The  prayers  of  holy  saints  and  wronged  souls, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  803 

Like  high-rear'd  bulwarks,  stand  before  our  faces. 
What  shall  I  say  more  than  I  have  inferr'd  ? 
Why  stay'st  ihou  here,  and  go'st  not  to  the  Duke? 
For  God's  sake  let  not  us  two  stay  at  home. 

C.  M.  Sometimes  I  unadvisedly  do  say, 
Which  after  hours  gives  leisure  to  repent. 

N.  I  am  assur'd  you  will  not  do  so  now. 

C.  M.  My  other  self,  my  counsel's  consistory, 
My  oracle,  my  prophet,  my  dear  cousin, 
I,  as  a  child,  will  go  by  thy  direction. 

N.  Then  we'll  not  stay  behind.     Come,  cousin,  let's 
Devise  the  fittest  time  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight :    as  you  value  your  trust, 
Reflect  accordingly. 

C.  M.  Methinks  I  have 
A  mind  to  it.     There  is  some  sap  in  this. 
'  Tis  vile  unless  it  may  be  quaintly  order'd, 
And  better  in  my  mind  not  undertook. 

N.  Boy! 

Francis  Bacon.  My  lord. 

N.  Know'st  thou  not  any,  whom  corrupting  gold 
Will  tempt  unto  a  close  exploit  of  death? 

F.  B.  How  should  I  ?     I  am  but  a  stranger  here ! 

N.  I  ask  thee,  boy,  because  I  do  desire 
That  thou  shalt  assist  me;  and  if  thou  wilt 
Thy  work  for  wealth,  and  life  for  gold  engage, 
I  will,  I  swear,  give  thee  a  thousand  pounds : 
Ask  me  when  thou  wilt,  and  thou  shalt  have  it, 
To-morrow  Francis,  or  indeed  when  thou  wilt. 

F.  B.  My  lord,  I  have  consider'd  in  my  mind, 
The  late  request  that  you  did  sound  me  in; 


804  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  were  it  not  so  very  far  from  reason, 

It  should  a  yielding  make  within  my  breast. 

I'm  glad  you  have  the  gold  but  I'll  not  touch  it. 

I  shall  during  my  life  the  better  think 

Of  you  and  of  myself  that  th'  gold  of  France 

Did  not  seduce  me.     Friendship  binds  me  to  you, 

Although  neither  valued  to  th'  money's  worth, 

Nor  purchas'd  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold. 

No  money  offer  me  I  pray ;  that  kills  my  heart. 

N.  Let  be  thy  bitter  scorn,  I  know  thy  noble  nature — 
How  true  thou  art — and  do  repent  my  fault, 
That  not  to  let  thy  hopeful  service  perish, 
I  thought  to  advance  thee  some  little  money. 
I  prithee,  pardon  and  forget  it  all. 

F.  B.  I  quite  forget  the  follies  that  are  past. 
And  now,  what  say  you  unto  this,  my  lord  ? 
That  which  you  have  requested  I  will  do, 
Well  satisfied  on  this  condition,  that 
You'll  not  depart  until  I  set  you  free. 

N.  Why,  boy,  how  thou  dost  talk  ?     Thy  back  cannot 
Vouchsafe  this  burden — 'tis  too -weak.     Myself 
Will  bear  a  part,  co-portion  of  your  pack. 
What  hast  thou  now  to  offer  ? 

9  * 

F.  -5.  At  this  time  nothing, 
But  I  will  promise  not  to  serve  amiss. 
It  will  show  honestly  and's  very  likely 
To  load  our  purposes  with  what  they  travail  for. 
I'll  bear  myself  towards  your  grace  no  otherwise 
Than  if  I  your  own  natural  brother  were. 

N.  Promising,  is  the  very  air  o'  th'  time : 
It  opens  the  eyes  of  expectation. 
Performance,  is  ever  the  duller  for  his  act, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  805 

And  but  in  the  plainer  and  simpler  kind  of  people, 
The  deed  of  saying  is  quite  out  of  use. 
To  promise,  is  most  courtly  and  fashionable ; 
Performance  is  a  kind  of  will  or  testament 
"Which  argues  a  great  sickness  in  his  judgment 
That  makes  it.     So  spare  thine  oaths,  my  boy. 

F.  B.  Thou  show'st  a  curious  and  unseasonable 
Impatience  and  solicitude,  my  lord. 
You  are  so  hasty  that  I  know  not  what  to  say. 

N.  Aye,  but  this  answer  will  not  serve  me,  boy ; 
About  the  gold,  I'll  trust  to  thy  conditions — 
If  thou  list  not,  leave  hast  thou  to  refuse ; 
But  thing  refused  do  not  afterward  accuse. 
Yet  we  much  rather  would  depart  than  be  so  check'd. 

F.  B.  I  do  not  think  your  hope's  so  small,  my  lord. 
Without  delay,  you  may  scot-free  escape. 

N.  What  god  art  thou,  compos'd  in  human  shape, 
Or  bold  Triphonius,  to  decide  our  doubts  ? 
How  know'st  thou  this  ? 

F.  B.  Even  as  I  know  the  means 
To  work  your  grace's  freedom  and  your  love. 
"  He  answered  me  with  :— 

N.  fray,  but  shall  I  not 
Provide  from  out  my  careful  mind  a  plan? 
This  rash  attempt  I  hold  not  for  the  best ; 
And  when  you  hear  my  reason,  out  of  doubt 
You'll  be  content  to  wait  and  'tend  on  me. 

F.  B.  Delay  is  dangerous,  and  procureth  harm. 

"  Then  thus  the  Prince  'gan  say,  but  did  straight- 
way refrain  : — 

N,  Now  sith  your  fortunes  thus  dispose — 
".The  Count  then  quickly  said  : — 


806  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

C.  M.  Let's  do  as  he  bids ; 
I  have  a  mind  to  do  so,  for  he  means 
To  do  us  good. 

N.  I  am  now  courted,  Count, 
With  a  double  occasion;  he  may  mean  well 
But  it  may  prove  an  argument  of  laughter 
To  th'  rest,  and  'mongst  lords  be  thought  a  fool : 
It  shows  but  little  love  or  judgment  in  him. 
Must  he  my  last  and  only  refuge  be  ? 
He  from  the  first,  for  compassing  of  his  ends, 
Has  sought  to  manage  everything,  yet  having 
Not  in  good  order  all  his  ends  arrang'd, 
Has  much  disgrac'd  me  in  't :    I'm  angry  at  him, 
That  might  have  known  my  place.     I  see  no  sense  for  't. 
It  is  but  the  prepost'rous  subtlety,    . 
Of  a  vain  mind  that  doth  aspire  of  honour ; 
And  now  that  the  reflected  image,  I 
Have  once  discover'd  rightly,  I  must  be  prepar'd. 
Thus  after  such  experience,  good  Count, 
I'm  nothing  slow  to  slack  his  haste.     He  is 
A  vain  braggadocio :    what  would  he  do  ? 

C.  M.  Yet  truly,  Prince,  he  has  a  due  respect. 
Methinks  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections 
With  an  invisible,  and  subtle  stealth 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes — impetuous 
But  in  beauty  and  health  of  mind,  superior. 

N.  Praise  whoso  list,  yet  I  will  him  dispraise, 
Until  he  quit  him  of  his  guilty  blame ; 
For  all  his  mind  on  honour  fixed  is, 
To  which  he  levels  all  his  purposes. 
His  power,  too,  I  hold  of  small  account. 
Pray  tell  me  whoso  else  did  by  him  gain  ? 


At  the  Court  of  France.  807 

C.  M.  Thou  art  too  bold  in  presence  here,  such  talk 
Against  him  for  to  use.     That  certainly 
Is  not  the  way  to  gain.     Lo,  this  is  best  advice : — 
'  Tis  good  to  look  to  him  betimes,  Navarre ; 
It  is  our  safety  and  we  must  embrace 
This  gentle  offer  of  the  perilous  time, 
For  day's  bright  beam  does  vanish  fast  away, 
Which  fills  my  mind  with  strange  despairing  thoughts. 
I  would  your  spirit  were  easier  for  advice, 
Or  stronger  for  your  need.     We  should  at  once 
Some  secret  means  devise  to  get  away ; 
Sure  this  your  grace  may  do. 

N.  '  Tis  with  my  mind 

As  with  the  tide,  swell'd  up  unto  his  height, 
That  makes  a  still-stand,  running  neither  way. 
Fain  would  I  go. 

C.  M.  I  know  you'd  fain  be  gone — 

JVi  But  many  thousand  reasons  hold  me  back. 

"  I'  my  mind  I  could  no  other  do  but  muse  : — 
Alas  that  I  should  e'er  such  friendship  show, 
Whereas  now  favor  none  is  to  be  found. 
I  such  a  courage  had  to  do  him  good ; 
And  does  he  think  so  backwardly  of  me  now  ? 
But  I  to  set  him  free  intended  not  to  miss, 
So  thus  my  mind  to  him  I  did  in  brief  express  : — 

F.  B.  My  lord,  why  waste  you  thus  the  time  away  \ 
I  freely  give  you  leave  to  choose  whether 
I  shall  you  leave  or  give  you  liberty. 

N.  Dost  thou  not  fear  the  fury  of  the  King? 
Would'st  thou  go  hazard  life  so  desperately? 
Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold : 
If  you  yourself  saw  with  your  eyes, 


808  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

i 

Or  with  your  judgment  knew  yourself,  the  fear 
Of  your  adventure  would  now  counsel  you 
To  a  more  equal  enterprise.     We  pray  you 
For  your  own  sake,  your  own  safety  t'  embrace, 
And  this  attempt  give  o'er. 

F.  B.  My  lord,  I  know  if  ever  it  did  come 
Unto  his  ears  that  I  th'  occasion  was 
Of  your  escape,  he'd  hang  me — that  is  clear : 
But  sir,  to  fear  the  worst,  oft  cures  the  worst. 
The  mind  I  sway  by,  and  the  heart  I  bear, 
Shall  never  sag  with  doubt,  nor  shake  with  fear. 

N.  Most  certainly  I  am  right  glad  to  see 
Such  valiant  courage  to  remain  in  thee, 
As  this  imports  thou  hast  in  heart  and  mind. 

F.  B.  Say  you  so,  say  you  so :    then  do  I  say 
Will  you  not  now  re-answer  me  my  question  ? 

N.  A  question  over  haughty  for  thy  weed, 
Fit  for  the  king  himself  for  to  propound. 

F.  B.  But  know  that  under  simple  weeds  the  gods 
Have  mask'd,  then  deem  not  with  disdain  to  give 
An  answer  to  my  question,  noble  Prince. 
My  coat  includes  perhaps  as  great  as  yours. 
If  by  the  looks  one  may  the  mind  aread,  your  looks 
Do  show  it  rests  but  to  confirm  my  talk. 

N.  What  you  should  mean  hereby,  I  do  not  know, 
And  should  it  not  displease  thee  it  to  tell, 
I  would  thyself  require  thee  to  reveal. 
But  lay  aside  this  thy  presumptuous  mind, 
Or  else  be  sure  thou  shalt  the  same  repent. 

F.  B.  My  parts,  my  title,  and  my  perfect  soul 
Shall  manifest  me  rightly.     You  shall  see 
My  deeds  shall  make  my  glory  shine 


At  the  Court  of  France.  809 

As  clear  as  Luna  in  a  winter's  night. 

N.  Well,  well,  because  thou  bragg'st  so  of  thy  birth, 
I'll  see  how  it  shall  profit  thee  anon. 
Thou  mayest  be  in  jest,  and  counterfeiting 
That  thou  art  princely  born ;  but  if  thou  art 
Of  noble  birth,  pray  tell  me  how  it  is, 
Thou  from  thy  father  cam'st  with  neither  titles 
Nor  honors,  boy  ? 

F.  B.  My  father  knows  the  cause. 

N.  But  what's  the  reason  you  should  leave  him  now  ? 

F.  B.  To  answer  that,  I  should  confess  to  you. 
And  yet  no  cowardly  heart  shall  cause  me 
E'er  to  deny  for  what  I   hither  came, 
For  most  unwilling  and  averse  was  I  to  leave. 

N.  But  why  art  thou  come  here? 

F.  B.  Why  ?     To  accomplish  what  my  father  will'd. 

N.  Methinks,  indeed,  he  hath  some  secret  reason, 
Not  for  thy  fault,  but  secret  powers  unseen, 
Why  now  he  wishes  you  with  speedy  haste 
To  move  from  England's  pleasant  court  and  seats. 
I  fear  me  you  are  sent  of  policy, 
To  undermine  us,  for  the  realm's  behoof. 
Bacon — a  goodly  chancellor  is  he  not  ? 

F.  B.  Mark  you  I  said  my  father,  sir,  my  father — 
I  dare  not  call  him  king :    what  needs  these  questions  ? 
7  Tis  not  in  her  controlment  nor  in  ours, 
But  as  the  realm  and  parliament  shall  please. 

N.  What  do  you  mean? 

F.  B.  My  lord,  I  love  you ; 
And  durst  commend  a  secret  to  your  ear 
Much  weightier  than  this  work.     I  wish  you  both 
Awhile  to  pause,  and  to  my  words  attend. 


810  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

I  charge  you,  too,  that  you  refrain  to  say 
Aught  of  me,  or  of  what  to  you  I  tell. 

N.  We  will  not  show  one  word  amiss,  that  is 
To  your  decree  contrary.     May  we  know 
For  what  intent  he  bare  this  grudge  to  thee? 

F.  B.  No  quarrel,  but  a  slight  contention. 

N.  About  what? 

F.  £.  About  the  crown  of  England,  which  is  mine. 

N.  Yours,  boy !     By  a  forg'd  process  then.     Heaven 

knows 

By  what  by-paths,  and  indirect  crook'd  ways. 
To  thee  it  shall  descend. 

F.  B.  But  I  myself  know  well. 
Heaven  witness  with  me,  and  put  in  thy  mind 
Better  opinion,  better  confirmation, 
Whenas  I  show  my  case.     Have  I  no  hope 
That  you  will  credit  give  unto  my  words  ? 

"  To  which  he  half  in  sport  this  answer  made  : — 

N.  The  part  of  prince  you're  acting  handsomely, 
But  I  much  doubt  that  you  too  careful  are, 
For  that  which  lawfully  is  none  of  yours. 

F.  B.  Nay,  but  I  hope  in  the  maturity 
Of  your  own  times,  upon  both  proofs  and  grounds 
So  notable,  'twill  yet  come  up  and  bear  such  fruit 
That  you,  right  royal  prince,  shall  have  no  need  to  doubt. 

N.  Tush,  these  but  fancies  be,  which  run  within  your 

mind. 

Hope  a  good  breakfast  is,  but  a  bad  supper. 
My  mind  presageth  that  I  shall  behold 
A  spectacle  to  daunt  the  pride  of  those 
That  climb  aloft  by  force,  and  not  by  right ; 


At  the  Court  of  France.  811 

Nor  can  it  otherwise  befall  the  man, 
That  keeps  his  seat  and  sceptre  all  in  fear, 
That  wears  his  crown  in  eye  of  all  the  world, 
Reputed  theft  and  not  inheritance. 

F.  B.  No  crown  to  me  can  be  so  dear,  my  lord, 
As  to  inflame  me  with  a  great  desire 
T'  usurp  a  throne — far  be  it  from  my  heart 
The  thought  thereof.     Weigh  you  my  words,  and  when 
You  have  bethought  yourself,  you  will  recant  I  know. 
Honor's  the  spur  that  pricks  the  princely  mind 
To  follow  rule,  and  climb  the  stately  chair. 
I  see  'tis  time  to  speak. 

N.  Say  on  your  mind. 

F.  B.  Oh,  weigh  how  hardly  I  can  brook  to  lose 
My  crown  and  kingdom  without  cause.     Ah  then, 
Methinks  I  should  revenge  me  of  my  wrongs, 
That  Leicester  and  Elizabeth  have  done. 
'  Tis  time  I  should  inform  thee  farther,  Prince : 
Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him, 
It  is  a  quarrel  just  and  reasonable, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  him  that  kill'd  my  hopes. 
I  was  provoked  by  her  slanderous  tongue, 
That  laid  their  guilt  upon  my  guiltless  shoulders. 

C.  M.  O  my  prophetic  soul !  thy  father  ? 

F.  B.  Ay,  that  incestuous,  that  adulterate  beast, 
With  witchcraft  of  his  wits,  hath  traitorous  gifts. 

N.  O  wicked  wit,  and  gifts,  that  have  the  power 
So  to  seduce!     Won  to  this  shameful  lust 
The  will  of  thy  most  seeming  virtuous  Queen : 
O,  what  a  falling  off  was  there  from  dignity! 
Son  to  Elizabeth  ?   thoti  art  a  bastard ! 
Thou  art  a  base  born  brat! 


812  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  B.  Base  brat  say'st  thou  ?   as  good  a  man  as  thou ! 

N.  Reprove  my  allegation,  if  you  can, 
Or  else  conclude  my  words  effectual. 

F.  B.  Be  you  not  of  that  mind  for  'tis  amiss. 
My  father's  nature  rightly  read,  for  he 
Persuaded  her  to  marry  him,  in  hopes 
That  by  his  marriage  he  would  crowned  be, 
No  doubt  agreeing  to  bar  his  progeny 
To  place  himself  in  the  imperial  seat. 

N.  But  is  that  possible  ?     Can  that  be  done  ? 

F.  B.  Ay,  my  most  gracious  lord, — so  'tis  decreed, — 
And  so  it  fares  with  me,  whose  dauntless  mind 
Ambitious  Leicester  would  now  seek  to  curb ; 
And  with  the  wings  of  rancor  and  disdain, 
Full  often  am  I  soaring  up  to  heaven 
To  'plain  me  to  the  gods  against  them  both. 

N.  Whence  have  you  this,  my  friend  ? 

F.  B.  From  my  father  whose  name  is  written  here, 
For  here's  a  paper  written  in  his  hand ; 
See,  lords  of  France,  how  I  disdain  the  name, — 
Well  may  I  rend  his  name  that  rends  my  heart! 
This  poor  revenge  has  something  eas'd  my  mind : 
So  may  his  limbs  be  torn,  as  is  this  paper ! 
Hear  me,  immortal  Jove,  and  grant  it  too. 

N.  Nay  by  the  mass,  sir,  you  forget  yourself. 
Be  not  your  hands  with  father's  blood  defil'd 
E'en  in  your  thought,  since  for  so  small  a  cause 
The  strife  doth  grow  betwixt  you  twain ;  this  grudge 
Which  you  have  to  each  other  so  shall  end : 
Your  strife  should  cease. 

F.  B.  I  have  vow'd  to  the  contrary 
Which  vow  I  must  defend. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  813 

N  Yet  not  detracting  this  your  vow, 
Your  country  may  be  shown  in  what  fine  scorn 
You  hold  your  father's  name. 

F.  B.  I'd  have  him  taste  the  bitterness  of  death. 

N.  I  warrant  thee  upon  my  life, 
That  he  hath  not  forgot,  since  he  did  woo, 
The  gall  of  love  and  all  that  'longs  thereto". 
But  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder, 
Whereto  the  climber  upward  turns  his  face : 
And  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 
He  then  upon  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 
Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 
By  which  he  did  ascend.     So  Leicester  may. 
Why  was  your  Queen  so  coy  to  one  so  kind  ? 

F.  B.  Kind !  .  so  methinks,  indeed :  of  highest  merit, 
So  to  insinuate  his  heart's  desire 
Was  her  to  win  because  of  his  true  love, 
When  he  did  hope  from  her  to  take  the  crown ! 
O,  sacred  hunger  of  ambitious  minds, 
And  impotent  desire  of  men  to  reign ! 

C.  M.  Consider,  lord,  he  is  the  next  of  blood, 
And  heir-apparent  to  the  English  Crown ; 
There's  reason  he  should  be  displeas'd  at  it. 

F.  B.  My  gracious  lord,  that  which  I  would  discover, 
The  law  of  policy  bids  me  conceal, 
But  when  I  call  to  mind  your  gracious  favors, 
My  duty  pricks  me  en  to  utter  that, 
Which  else,  no  earthly  good  should  draw  .from  me. 
But  for  my  banishment — 

N.  Wert  banish'd  then  ?     Banish'd  on  pain  of  death  ? 

F.  B.  Aye,  I  was  banish'd  and  do  feel  the  smart  of  it : 
For  I  do  find  more  pain  in  banishment 


814  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Than  death  can  yield,  I  do  assure  you,  sir. 

Yet  what  the  heavens  appoint  I  must  obey ; 

But  law  and  justice  shall  o'er-rule  in  this, 

And  by  this  means  I  do  not  doubt  that  I 

Ere  long  shall  be  requited.     And  I  say, 

But  for  my  banishment,  my  lord,  I'd  die 

Ere  I  would  bate  one  breath  of  the  Queen's  greatness. 

JVi  Brave  boy,  how  plain  this  princely  mind  in  thee, 
Argues  the  height  and  honor  of  your  birth ; 
But  where  shall  I  in  all  antiquity 
So  fair  a  pattern  find,  where  may  be  seen 
The  goodly  praise  of  princely  courtesy, 
As  in  yourself?     It  shows,  as  in  a  mirror  sheen, 
And  doth  inflame  the  eyes  which  thereon  fixed  been, 
But  meriteth,  indeed,  an  higher  name : 
Yet  so  from  low  to  high,  uplifted  is  your  name. 
I  have  thy  forwardness  observed  well, 
And  in  good  time  I  hope  this  honor's  fire, 
Kindled  already  in  regard  of  right, 
Bursts  into  open  flame  and  calls  for  wars, 
Wars,  wars,  to  plant  thee  true  succeeding  prince. 
Heaven  in  thy  good  cause  make  thee  prosperous. 

F.  B.  I  hope  your  grace,  indeed,  my  state  will  weigh. 

N.  You've  added  worth  unto't  and  luster  too, 
And  I  protest  that  I'll  be  true  to  thee 
Until  our  bodies  turn  to  elements, 
And  both  our  souls  aspire  celestial  thrones. 
But  know  thou,  noble  youth,  the  time  is  short 
And  we  have  little  leisure  to  debate  of  that, 
For  'tis  a  matter  that  more  space  doth  crave. 

F.  B.  I  am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 

N.  Francis,  to  you  our  minds  we  will  unfold : 


At  the  Court  of  France.  815 

I  must  away  this  night  toward  Pau, 

And  it  is  meet  I  presently  set  forth. 

I  would  the  state  of  time  had  first  been  whole, — 

You  must  not  marvel,  Francis,  at  my  course 

Which  holds  not  color  with  the  time,  nor  does 

The  ministration,  and  required  office 

On  my  particular.     Prepar'd  I  was  not 

For  such  a  business,  therefore  am  I  found 

So  much  unsettled.     This  drives  me  to  entreat  you 

That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home, 

And  rather  muse  than  ask  why  I  entreat  you, 

For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem, 

And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need, 

Greater  than  shows  itself  at  the  first  view, 

To  you  that  know  them  not.     I  do  not  think  it  meet 

To  lay  so  dangerous  and  dear  a  trust 

On  any  soul  remov'd,  but  on  my  own ; 

Yet  if  I  might  some  such  good  order  frame, 

That  each  one  be  well  pleased  with  the  same, 

I  would  be  glad  to  have  you  my  companion. 

F.  B.  Commit  not  to  my  youth  things  of  more  weight 
Than  fits  a  prince  so  young  as  I  to  bear; 
Yet  fear  not,  dear  Navarre,  heaven's  great  beams 
On  Atlas'  shoulders  shall  not  lie  more  safe, 
Than  shall  your  charge  committed  to  my  trust. 

N.  How  high  a  pitch  his  resolution  soars ! 
Have  you  your  wits  ?     Know  you  what  'tis  you  speak  ? 

F.  B.  Yes,  noble  lord,  and  more  than  that  I  will 
Be  bold  and  pledge. 

N.  Ah,  ha !   boy,  say  you  so  ? 
Then  if  you  mind  to  hold  your  true  obedience, 
Give  me  assurance  with  some  friendly  vow, 


816  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

That  I  may  never  have  you  in  suspect. 

F.  JB.  Propose  the  oath,  my  lord,  and  I'll  be  sworn 
On  all  the  books  in  England.     I  could  find 
In  my  heart,  sir,  all  things  to  undertake. 

N.  Barest  thou  be  so  valiant  ? 

F.  B.  My  lord,  I'll  be  once  in  my  days  so  bold. 
Here  is  my  hand;  the  premises  observ'd, 
Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  serv'd. 

N.  I'll  pledge  thee  straight.     Come  hither,  gentle 

Francis, 

We  owe  thee  much ;  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
There  is  a  soul  counts  thee  her  creditor, 
And  with  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love : 
And,  my  good  friend,  thy  voluntary  oath 
Lives  in  this  bosom,  dearly  cherished. 

F.  B,  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say  but  that  I  am 
Your  most  obedient  servant. 

N.  Give  me  thy  hand ;  I  had  a  thing  to  say, 
But  I  will  fit  it  with  some  better  tune. 
I  would  into  thy  bosom  pour  my  thoughts : 
But  ah !   I  will  not,  yet  I  love  thee  well,  • 
And  by  my  troth  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  well. 

F.  B.  So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake, 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct  to  my  act, 
By  heaven,  I  would  do  it. 

N.  Do  not  I  know  thou  would'st  ? 

F.  B.  Out  of  your  grace  devise,  ordain,  impose 
Some  gentle  order,  and  then  we  shall  be  blest 
To  do  your  pleasure  and  continue  friends. 
I  do  bequeath  my  faithful  services, 
And  true  subjection  everlastingly. 
Whenever  Francis  Bacon  turns  his  hate 


At  the  Court  of  France.  817 

Upon  your  grace,  but  with  all  duteous  love, 
Doth  cherish  you,  and  yours,  God  punish  me 
With  hate  in  those  where  I  expect  most  love, 
When  I  have  most  need  to  employ  a  friend, 
And  most  assured  that  he  is  a  friend, 
Deep,  hollow,  treacherous,  and  full  of  guile, 
Be  he  unto  me :  this  do  I  beg  of  heaven, 
When  I  am  cold  in  love,  to  you,  or  yours. 

N.  And  the  like  tender  of  our  love  we  make ; 
This  interchange  of  love  I  here  protest 
Upon  my  part,  shall  be  inviolable, 
And  rest  without  a  spot  for  evermore. 

By  heaven,  Francis,  I  am  almost  asham'd 

i 

To  say  what  good  respect  I  have  of  thee. 

F.  B.  Good  friend,  thou  hast  no  cause  to  say  so  yet, 
But  thou  shalt  have :   and  creep  time  ne'er  so  slow 
Yet  it  shall  come,  for  me  to  do  thee  good. 
Plead  what  I  will  be,  not  what  I  have  been; 
Not  my  deserts,  but  what  I  will  deserve. 
What  would  your  grace  have  me  to  do  in  this  ? 

N.  I  think  thou  dost  too  willingly  embrace 
Thy  charge,  yet  we'll  employ  thee  in  this  matter. 
I'd  rather  fly,  directly  fly,  but  I 
Am  now  most  infinitely  tied,  because 
We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 
We  now  have  but  two  hours  to  furnish  us. 

F.  B.  You  must  disguise  yourselves. 

N.  Yes,  and  soon  have 
In  readiness  our  horses.     Come  let  us 
Go  presently  about  it.     What  say  you,  Count  ? 

C.  M.  We'll  willingly  accomplish  your  desire. 
Go,  Prince,  prepare  yourself  and  leave  the  rest 


818  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

To  us.     Most  surely  by  so  doing,  too, 

You  cannot  choose  but  tender  your  own  good. 

Within  this  hour  at  most  I'll  come  to  you. 

<•  .Z\^  You  press  me  far  and  therefore  I  will  yield : 
So  fare-you-well  till  we  shall  meet  again. 

C.  Ml  Farewell,  Navarre;  I'll  meet  you  one  hour  hence. 
Francis,  shall  we  go  prove  what's  to  be  done  ? 

F.  E.  If  you  say  so,  withdraw  and  prove  it  too, 
But  I  must  have  some  further  conference 
With  our  good   Prince   Navarre.      What   would'st  thou 
Prince  ? 

N.  I  do  desire  you 
Not'  to  deny  this  imposition, 
The  which  my  love  and  some  necessity 
Now  lays  upon  you. 

F.  E.  My  lord,  with  all  my  heart, 
I  shall  obey  you  in  all  fair  commands. 

N.  To-morrow  shall  you  bear  our  full  intent 
Unto  the  king.     My  boy,  see  that  you  bear 
You  bravely  in't  and  with  a  majesty 
Your  message  do. 

F.  E.  Have  you  no  fear,  my  lord. 

N.  Forsooth,  I  was  a  coward;  but  be  sure, 
I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  myself, 
Mighty,  and  to  be  fear'd.     What  should  I  fear? 
As  Hercules  thou  knowest  I  am  valiant, 
But  of  all  humours  am  I  now,  that  have 
Showed  themselves  humours  since  the  old  days 
Of  goodman  Adam. 

F.  £.  Perfect  art  thou,  and  valiant  as  a  lion; 
Worthy  a  mighty  General  to  be : 
In  thee  in  lion's  skin  doth  Hercules  appear, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  819 

Or  mailed  Mars  come  down  to  rule  these  wars. 
For  aye  may  Mighty  Power  preserve  thy  state, 
And  give  thee  aid  in  all  thy  bold  attempts. 
Now  must  I  of  my  word  be  mindful ;  so  farewell. 
N.  Farewell. 

"  I  must  awhile  forebear  to  you  to  tell 
Till  that  as  comes  by  course,  what  fortune  then 
Unto  the  Prince  did  light.     The  great  affairs  in  mind 
Would  not  permit  to  make  there  longer  stay, 
Therefore  according  to  the  former  charge 
To  him  deliver'd,  straight  he  went  his  way. 
Soon  we  were  ready  to  depart,  disguis'd 
In  sober  robes, — and  thought  by  this  device 
As  I've  before  rehears'd,  to  take  our  leave 
Quite  unsuspected  ;  and  this  rash  attempt 
No  doubt  accomplish'd  might  have  been 
Had  they  not,  one  upon  another's  fortunes 
A  great  time  stood,  debating  how  they'd  go. 
The  cause  of  the  delay  was  this  :    when  we 
Did  meet,  the  Count  unto  the  Prince  did  say : — 

C.  M.  My  lord,  the  horses  that  your  lordship  sent  for, 
With  all  the  care  I  had  I  saw  well  chosen ; 
Come  therefore  let  us  fly,  while  we  may  fly : 
Thine  stands  behind  the  hedge ;  when  thou  need'st  him, 
There  shalt  thou  find  him. 

N.  What  horse  ?     A  roan,  a  crop  ear,  is  it  not  ? 

C.  M.  It  is,  my  lord. 

N.  That  roan  shall  be  my  throne. 
Well,  I  will  back  him  straight.     Esperance. 
Bid  Butler  lead  him  forth  into  the  park, 
I'll  follow  in  a  half-hour's  time  at  most. 

C.  M.  I  pray  you  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse, — 


820  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 


The  hour  is  nigh .     We  must,  my  lord,  make  speed 
Of  our  departure. 

"  He  answered  : — 

If.  Do  not  so, 
But  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time. 

(?.  M.  You  must  needs  yield  your  reason. 

]$.  It  is  this : 

Ere  we  depart  I'll  talk  with  Margaret ; 
We  have  some  secrets  to  confer  about. 
You  hear  the  reason ;  I  am  fully  resolute. 

C.  M.  Is  it  so  plain  indeed  ?     Art  flatly  so  resolv'd  ? 

N~.  This  is  my  mind  and  I  will  have  it  so. 

"  To  me  the  Count  said  in  a  tone  more  low  : — 

C.  M.  It  appears  by  his  small  light  of  discretion 
That  he  is  in  the  wane  :  but  yet  in  courtesy, 
In  all  reason,  we  must  stay  the  time. 

F.  B.  But  his  discretion  I  am  sure,  dear  Count, 
Cannot  his  valor  carry.     It  is  well : 
Leave  it  to  his  discretion. 

C.  M.  True:  proceed. 

F.  B.  That's  all  I  have  to  say. 

N.  I  will  command  no  more 
But  this,  that  Margaret  be  sent  for  now. 
Run  thee  to  the  parlor,  there  shalt  thou  find  her; 
Whisper  her  ear,  and  tell  her  I  and  you 
Walk  in  the  orchard  with  the  Count  proposing ; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
There  will  she  hide  her  to  listen  our  purpose. 
Be  brief,  and  afterward  again  come  hither. 

F.  B.  I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant,  presently. 

N.  But  hark !  stay  a  little :   it  may  be  nothing ! 


At  the  Court  of  France.  821 


What  think  you,  is  the  garden  watch'd  by  spirits. 
That  lightly  pass  as  heralds  to  bear  news? 

F.  B.  My  lord,  your  fancy  is  at  play ;  you  jest. 

N.  If  to  my  flight  either  of  you  know 
Any  impediment,  I  charge  you  utter  it. 
Know  you  any,  Francis  ? 

F.  B.  None,  my  lord. 

N.  Know  you  any,  Count? 

C.  M.  I  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

N.  Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
Will  fashion  the  event  to  better  shape, 
Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 

C.  M.  Boy,  I  the  plot  have  perfected,  therefore 
Without  deferring  longer  time,  will  you 
Unto  such  order  stand  here  limited 
By  me  ?     Do  you  consent  to  let  your  aids 
Be  prest  with  mine  ?     Say  on  if  you  agree. 

"  And  then  unto  the  King  he  thus  appeal'd  : — 

C.  M.  I  know  your  grace  may  him  persuade,  as  reason 
Wills  no  less. 

"  To  which  I  thus  replied  : — 

F.  B.  To  end  all  discord,  then,  I  give  my  glad  consent. 

C.  M.  Are  you  content? 

F.  B.  Yes,  since  you  have  the  cause 
Before  me  here  declar'd,  I  do  agree 
All  charge  to  you  resign.     Now  that  there  rests 
No  other  shift  but  this,  we  shall  my  lord. 
Perform  what  you  command  us.     As  for  me, 
My  duty  then  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains : 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  office  on  you. 

C.  M.  Continue  still  in  this  so  good  a  mind 


822  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  Henry,  though  he  be  infortunate, 
Cannot  on  thee  reproachful  speeches  wreak. 
Stand  to  it,  boy. 

F.  B.  I  shall  obey  his  will, 
And  use  all  the  endeavors  of  a  man, 
In  all  that  I  can  do ;  so  if  he  please 
My  hand  is  ready,  may  it  do  him  ease. 

N.  Fortune  doth  our  disguise  confine.     Now  Francis, 
If  please  you  to  be  a  diligent  follower 
Of  mine  and  to  serve  me,  take  instant  leave, 
And  make  this*haste  as  your  own  good  proceeding. 
This  is  thy  office,  bear  thee  well  in  it, 
And  with  a*ll  speed  return.     Say  thine  adieux, 
Then  go  effect  this  business  soundly. 

F.  B.  My  good  lords  both, 
With  all  the  heed  I  can  I'll  to  my  charge : 
If  we  no  more  meet,  till  we  meet  in  heaven, 
Then  joyfully,  my  noble  lords,  adieu. 

N.  Farewell ;  good  luck  go  with  thee.   Full  of  valor  be, 
And  yet  I  do  thee  wrong,  to  mind  thee  of  it, 
For  thou  art  fram'd  of  the  firm  truth  of  valor. 

F.  B.  Boldness  be  my  friend : 
Arm  me,  audacity,  from  head  to  foot. 

"  I  then  took  leave,  and  to  the  Count  he  said  : — 

N.  Until  I  see  them  here,  by  doubtful  fear 
My  J°7  °f  liberty  is  half  eclipsed. 
Here's  Margaret ;  my  friends,  withdraw  awhile, 
Be  heedful ;  hence,  and  watch. 

Enter  Margaret. 

Vouchsafe  at  my  request,  Queen  Margaret, 
To  step  aside  into  this  pleached  bower, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  823 

While  I  use  further  conference  with  thee, 
And  by  and  by,  thy  bosom  shall  partake 
The  secrets  of  my  heart. 
All  my  engagements,  I  will  construe  to  thee, 
All  the  charactery  of  my  sad  brows. 

Margaret  Aye,  speak  to  me  ; 
I  grant  I  am  a  woman ;  but  withal, 
A  woman  well  reputed ;  Henry's  daughter. 
Think  you,  I  am  no  stronger  than  my  sex 
Being  so  father'd,  and  so  husbanded  ? 
Tell  me  your  counsels,  I  will  not  disclose  'em : 
I  have  made  strong  proof  of  my  constancy, 
Giving  myself  a  voluntary  wound  : 
My  lord,  can  I  bear  that  with  patience, 
And  not  my  husband's  secrets? 

N.  Constant  you  are, 
But  yet  a  woman ;  and  for  secrecy, 
No  lady  closer.     O  Lord  of  Hosts, 
Render  me  worthy  of  this  noble  wife. 

"  I,  in  the  confines  slyly  lurk'd  to  watch ; 
Thereby  I  overheard  all  that  was  said, 
And  to  the  consequence  a  witness  was. 
N.  I  am  to  break  with  thee  of  some  affairs 
That  touch  me  near,  wherein  thou  must  be  secret, 
The  which  I  held  my  duty  speedily 
To  acquaint  thee  withal,  sithence  i'  th'  loss 
That  may  happen,  it  concerns  thee  something 
To  know  it. 

M.  Well,  what  would  you  say  my  lord? 
N.  Thou  knowest  often  ere  this  day,  I  have 
Rebell'd  because  I'm  fetter'd  here  at  court ; 
It  wounds  my  thoughts  worse  than  the  sword  my  flesh. 


824  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

M.  But  thought's  the  slave  of  life,  and  life,  time's 

fool; 

And  time,  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world, 
Must  have  a  stop.     The  time  of  life  is  short. 

N.  If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour, 
To  spend  that  shortness  basely  were  too  long. 
We  see  which  way  the  stream  of  time  doth  run, 
And  are  enforc'd  from  our  most  quiet  there 
By  the  rough  torrent  of  occasion. 
Now  mailed  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit 
Up  to  the  ears  in  blood :   I  am  on  fire, 
Sweet  Queen,  and  by  my  state  I  swear  to  thee, 
I  speak  no  more  than  what  my  soul  intends, 
And  that  is  this  :    whatever  fortune  may  befall, 
To  th'  face  of  peril  myself  I'll  dedicate ; 
And  in  the  view  of  all  the  western  world, 
I'll  try  the  hazard  of  this  dangerous  war, 
Although  my  body  pay  the  price  of  it, 
Or  I  be  brought  a  pris'ner  to  the  palace  gate. 

M.  May  I  be  bold  t'acquaint  his  grace  you're  gone 
About  it? 

N.  Aye,  go  to  him  straight,  my  Queen, 
And  publish  the  occasion  of  our  arms ; 
Tell  him  we  come  to  speak  it  with  the  sword. 
For  by  this  hand,  he  hath  arm'd  our  answer, — 
But  this  I  rue  not,  for  it  well  may  serve 
A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 
For  breathing  and  exploit, — then  say  to  him : — 
'You  took  occasion  to  be  quickly  woo'd, 
To  gripe  the  general  sway  into  your  hand, 
Forgot  your  oath  to  us  at  Hallowmas, 


At  the  Court  of  France. 


And  being  fed  by  us,  you  us'd  us  so, 

As  that  ungentle  gull,  the  cuckoo's  bird, 

Useth  the  sparrow,  did  oppress  our  nest, 

Grew  by  our  feeding  to  so  great  a  bulk, 

That  even  our  love  durst  not  come  near  your  sight 

For  fear  of  swallowing,  but  with  nimble  wing 

We  were  enforc'd  for  safety's  sake  to  fly 

Out  of  your  sight,  and  raise  this  present  head, 

Whereby  we  stand  opposed  by  such  means 

As  you  yourself,  have  forg'd  against  yourself, 

By  unkind  usage,  dangerous  countenance, 

And  violation  of  all  faith  and  troth 

Sworn  to  us  in  younger  enterprise. 

I  take  not  on  me  here  as  a  physician, 

But  rather  show  a  while  like  fearful  war, 

To  diet  .rank  minds,  sick  of  happiness, 

And  purge  th'  obstructions  which  begin  to  stop 

Our  very  veins  of  life.' 

Say  then  to  him  :  — 

4  I  here  proclaim  myself  thy  mortal  foe  : 
With  resolution,  wheresoe'er  I  meet  thee, 
(As  I  will  meet  thee,  if  thou  stir  abroad) 
To  plague  thee,  for  thy  foul  mis-leading  me. 
And  so,  proud-hearted  brother,  I  defy  thee, 
And  to  thy  head  accuse  thee  home  and  home.' 

M.  'Tis  better  said  than  done,  my  gracious  lord. 
Surely,  'tis  suit  ill  spent,  and  labor  ill  bestow'd  ; 
The  King  would  apprehend  thee  as  his  enemy  ; 
And  gallant  Henry,  do  but  answer  this, 
What  is  the  body,  when  the  head  is  off? 

N.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  full  show  of  this, 
Till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment  ; 


326    •  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

You  have  of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother, 
And  he  hath  ta'en  you  newly  to  his  grace, 
Where  'tis  impossible  you  should  take  root, 
But  by  th'  fair  weather  that  you  make  yourself: 
It  is  needful  that  you  frame  the  season 
For  your  own  harvest. 

M.  That  may  well  be  so. 

N.  I'd  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge  than  a  rose  in 
his  grace;  and 't  better  fits  my  blood  to  be  disdained  of  all, 
than  to  fashion  a  carriage  to  rob  love  from  any.  I'm 
trusted  with  a  muzzle  and  enfranchis'd  with  a  clog ;  there- 
fore I  have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  my  cage.  If  I  had  my 
mouth,  I  would  bite ;  if  I  had  my  liberty,  I  would  do  my 
liking :  in  the  meantime  let  me  be  that  I  am,  and  seek 
not  to  alter  me. 

M.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ? 

N.  I  will  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only. 
Aid  me  with  what  store  of  power  you  have, — 
Happily  a  woman's  voice  may  do  some  good, — 
Urge  the  necesssity  and  state  of  times, 
And  be  not  peevish  found  in  great  designs. 
Resolve  to  put  away  the  loathy  blame, 
To  hear  and  see  this  unexpected  end. 
Lay  comforts  to  your  bosom,  and  bestow 
Your  needful  counsel  to  our  business 
Which  craves  the  instant  use.     For  my  poor  self, 
I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow 
And  shall  be  absent.     Wend  you  with  this  letter, 
This  letter  from  the  duke,  and  offer  it 
Next  morning  to  the  King.     No  more  is  needful, 
But  if  it  were  'twould  not  be  lacking,  'faith ; 
Woman's  gentle  brain  can  well  devise 


At  the  Court  of  France.  <S27 

Something  the  bitter  mock  I  send  to  sweeten. 

M.  It  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  King's  tartness. 

N.  Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart,  and  do  your  mission  well, 
Which  I  presume  shall  render  you  no  blame 
But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it. 

M.  Trust  not  my  love  if  I  pervert  your  course. 
I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my  lord, 
But  the  attempt  I  vow  with  all  my  heart ; 
Now  as  thou  lovest  me  let  me  see  this  letter. 

N.  Good  Margaret,  grant  me  another  request. 

M.  Anything. 

N.  Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 

M.  This  is  to  give  a  dog,  and  in  recompense 
Desire  my  dog  again.     This  is  uncivil ! 
Navarre,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

N.  Keep  promise,   Queen?    what  do  your  thoughts 
run  on  ? 

M.  Cannot  you  trust  me  ? 

N.  Aye,  for  I  will  believe 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know, 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Queen. 

M.  How,  so  far? 

N.  Not  an  inch  further. 

M.  What  portents  are  these  ? 
Some  heavy  business  hath  my  lord  in  hand, 
And  I  must  know  it ;  else  he  loves  me  not. 

N.  O  blame  me  not. 

My  mind  is  troubled  like  a  fountain  stirr'd, 
And  I  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it. 

M.  Would  that  'twere  clear  again. 

N.  Remember  what  I  told  you ;  if  the  King 


828  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Solicit  you,  you  know  what  is  your  answer : 
If  he  be  too  important,  tell  him  this  : — 

'  Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere, 
Nor  can  one  country  brook  a  double  reign. 
It  is  the  King  Navarre,  that  threatens  thee, 
Who  never  promiseth  but  he  means  to  pay : 
He  weighs  time  even  to  the  utmost  grain 
In  braving  arms  against  thee ;  and  further, 
In  person  hath  set  forth  intending  speedily, 
With  strong  and  mighty  preparation, 
To  daflf    the  world  aside  and  bid  it  pass.' 
If  he  be  leaden,  icy,  cold,  unwilling, 
Be  thou  so  too,  and  so  break  off  the  talk,* 
And  give  us  notice  of  his  inclination, 
For  we  to-morrow  hold  divided  counsels, 
Wherein  thyself  shalt  highly  be  employ'd. 
My  mind  presageth  happy  gain  and  conquest, 
But  if  you  cross  me  in  my  soul's  desire, 
Ere  I  can  place  myself  in  strong  safeguard, 
I'll  make  your  Paris  Louvre  shake  for  it, 
Were  it  the  mistress  court  of  mighty  Europe; 
Thou  and  thy  brother  both  shall  buy  this  treason, 
Even  with  the  dearest  blood  your  bodies  bear. 
Think  not  to  share  with  me  in  glory  any  more, 
If  thou  dost  ruinate  my  father's  house, 
Who  gave  his  blood  to  lime  the  stones  together. 

M.  Ah !  my  sour  husband,  my  hard-hearted  lord. 
Remember  well  thy  oath  of  service  to  the  Pope. 

N.  To  keep  that  oath  were  more  impiety, 
Than  Jephtha's,  when  he  sacrific'd  his  daughter. 
Unheedful  vows  may  needfully  be  broken, 
And  he  wants  wit,  that  wants  resolved  will 


At  the  Court  of  France.  829 

To  learn  his  wit,  t'exchange  the  bad  for  better. 
I  prithee  do  not  hold  me  to  mine  oath. 

M.  Not  hold  thee  to  thine  oath  ?     O,  let  thy  vow 
First  made  to  Heaven,  first  be  to  Heaven  perform'd ; 
That  is,  to  be  the  champion  of  our  church, 
What  since  thou  swor'st  is  sworn  against  thyself, 
And  may  not  be  performed  by  thyself: 
For  that  which  thou  hast  sworn  to  do  amiss, 
Is  not  amiss  when  it  is  truly  done ; 
And  being  not  done,  where  doing  tends  to  ill, 
The  truth  is  then  most  done  not  doing  it : 
The  better  act  of  purposes  mistook, 
Is  to  mistake  again ;  though  indirect, 
Yet  indirection  thereby  grows  direct ; 
It  is  religion  that  doth  make  vows  kept, 
But  thou  hast  sworn  against  religion : 
By  what  thou  swear'st  against  the  thing  thou  swear'st, 
And  mak'st  an  oath  the  surety  for  thy  truth, 
Against  an  oath  the  truth,  thou  art  unsure 
To  swear,  swears  only  not  to  be  forsworn, 
Else  what  a  mockery  should  it  be  to  swear? 
But  thou  dost  swear,  only  to  be  forsworn, 
And  most  forsworn,  to  keep  what  thou  dost  swear, 
Therefore  thy  later  vows,  against  thy  first, 
Is  in  thyself  rebellion  to  thyself: 
Bethink  you,  Henry,    for  the  difference 
Is  purchase  of  a  heavy  curse  from  Rome, 
Or  the  light  loss  of  England,  for  a  friend : 
Forego  the  easier. 

N.  That's  the  curse  of  Rome. 
The  Lady  Margaret  speaks  not  from  her  faith, 
But  from  her  need. 


830  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

M.  Oh,  if  thou  grant  my  need, 
Which  only  lives  but  by  the  death  of  faith, 
That  need  must  needs  infer  this  principle, — 
That  faith  would  live  again  at  death  of  need ; 
O  then  tread  down  my  need,  and  faith  mounts  up ; 
Keep  my  need  up,  and  faith  is  trodden  down. 
And  shall  these  hands  so  lately  purg'd  of  blood, 
So  newly  join'd  in  love,  so  strong  in  both, 
Unyoke  this  seysure,  and  this  kind  regreete  ? 
Play  fast  and  loose  with  faith?  so  jest  with  Heaven, 
Make  such  unconstant  children  of  ourselves, 
As  now  again  to  snatch  our  palm  from  palm; 
Unswear  faith  sworn,  and  on  the  marriage  bed 
Of  smiling  peace  to  march  a  bloody  host, 
And  make  a  riot  on  the  gentle  brow 
Of  true  sincerity  ?  O  let  it  not  be  so : 
In  this,  the  anticke  and  well-noted  face 
Of  plain  old  form  is  much  disfigured. 
O  this  will  make  my  mother  die  with  grief, 
King  Henry  rage,  and  all  the  court  be  mov'd ; 
And  Henry  is  my  brother  and  my  king, 
Whose  sovereignty  so  oft  thou  hast  preferr'd 
With  twenty  thousand  soul-confirming  oaths. 
Speak  gentle  words  and  humbly  bend  thy  knee, 
Call  him  thy  king  and  at  his  hands  beg  mercy, 
And  he  shall  pardon  thee  these  outrages. 

N.  He  will  the  rather  do  it,  when  he  sees 
Ourselves  well  sinewed  to  our  defence. 

M.  O  husband,  hear  me. 

W.  I  prithee,  loving  wife, 
Put  not  you  on  the  visage  of  the  times 
And  be  like  them  to  Henry,  troublesome. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  831 

Leave  these  ungentle  thoughts ;  no  other  do, 
Fair  lady,  than  you  would  be  done  unto. 
A  milder  mind,  sweet  looks,  not  lofty,  civil  mood, 
Become  a  woman's  kind. 

M.  So  shall  it  be,  your  Grace. 

N.  My  gracious  Queen, 
Be  not  so  hasty  to  confound  my  meaning : 
Forbear  awhile  and  hear  a  little  more, 
For  you  have  but  mistook  me  all  this  while. 
I've  sworn,  I'm  firm,  importune  me  no  further 
For  how  I  firmly  am  resolv'd  you  know, — 
That  is  to  leave  the  court.     Thou  mayst  think 
I  love  thee  not, — let  that  appear  hereafter 
And  aim  better  at  me,  by  that  I  now 
Will  manifest  for  the  Duke. 

M.  My  brother  ?     I  think 
He  holds  you  well  and  in  dearness  of  heart, 
For  he  hath  holpe  to  eifect  your  marriage. 

N.  He  hath  now  high  hopes 
He  may  effect  in  France  a  better  government. 
It  shall  be  briefly  done,  for  with  my  soldiers 
I,  too,  will  go  and  fight  for  't  to  the  last. 
I  think  we  are  a  body  strong  enough, 
Even  as  we  are,  to  equal  with  the  King's. 

M.  Can  this  be  so  ?     But  you — 

N.  I  will  set  forwards  to-night 
To  join  him;  more  soldiers  shall  be  levied, 
Supplies  be  brought  from  forth  the  neighboring  realms, — 
When  these  are  gone,  our  swords  shall  purchase  more, — 
And  dreadful  wrar  shall  answer  our  demand  : 
The  Heavens  are  just,  and  time  suppresseth  wrongs. 

N.  Now  I  see  the  bottom  of  your  purpose. 


832  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

N.  You  see  it  lawful  then,  and  Margaret, 
The  King  shall  understand  it  presently. 

M.  He  must  be  told  on  %  and  he  shall :  the  office 
Becomes  a  woman  best.     Ill  take  't  upon  me, 
And  my  assurance  bids  me  seek  his  favor. 
But  now,  my  lord,  is  't  not  after  midnight  ? 
Quick,  quick,  I  pray !  without  more  speech,  my  lord, 
You  must  be  gone  from  hence  immediately. 

N.  Aye,  let  me  think  on  danger,  and  be  gone 
To  Anjou,  while  my  fearful  head  is  on. 
Adieu,  adieu,  my  Queen. 

M.  Adieu,  my  lord,  the  Heavens  thee  guard  and  keep. 
But  list,  O  list,  my  lord ! 

N.  How  now,  what  say'st  thou  to  me  ? 

M.  Hark,  hark !    one  doth  approach !    I  fear  the  King 
Possess'd  is  of  your  purpose,  and  hath  sent  for  you. 
Then  linger  not,  my  lord ;  away,  take  horse. 

N.  What  pagan  rascal's  this  ? 

M.  I  saw  him  not. 

N.  Ha !  will  he  to  the  King  and  open  lay 
All  our  proceedings  ?     Hang  him,  let  him  tell 
The  King  we  are  prepar'd. 

M.  Tis  that  I  fear. 

N.  Tush,  it  can  do  me  no  damage. 
I  love  him  not,  not  fear  him,  there's  my  creed : 
As  I  am  made  without  him,  so  I'll  stand 
If  the  King  please :  his  curses  and  his  blessings 
Touch  me  alike  :  th'  are  breath  I  not  believe  in. 
It  may  be  heard  at  court,  the  which  he  hearing 
(As  it  is  like  him)  might  break  out  and  swear 
He'd  fetch  us  in,  yet  is  't  not  probable. 
The  trust  I  have,  is  in  mine  innocence. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  8?3 


And  therefore  am  I  bold  and  resolute ; 
For  Margaret,  God  our  hope,  will  succor  us, 
So  let  my  lady  apprehend  no  fear. 

M.  The  purpose  that  you  undertake  is  dangerous. 

N.  Why  ,  that's  certain :  'tis  dangerous  to  take 
A  cold,  to  sleep,  to  drink  :  but  I  tell  you, 
Sweet  Margaret,  out  of  this  nettle,  danger, 
We  pluck  this  flower,  safety.     List  to  me. 
Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary, 
Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger. 
And  danger  like  an  ague  subtly  taints 
Even  then  when  we  sit  idly  in  the  sun. 
But  this  is  mere  digression  from  my  purpose : 
Sweet  Margaret,  go  in  awhile. 

M.  I  must  go  in — 
Aye,  me,  how  weak  a  thing 
The  heart  of  woman  is !     O  Henry, 
The  Heavens  speed  thee  in  thine  enterprise. 
Stand  gracious,  gloomy  night,  to  this  device. 

"  This  pausingly  ensued  before  the  man 
Made  suit  to  come  into  his  presence.     T, 
Seeing  the  fellow's  quick  withdrawal,  follow'd  him 
And  heard  unseen  his  report  unto  the  King. 
What  wonder  that  thereafter  I  did  not 
Lose  sight  of  him. 

Gentleman.  From  enemies,  Heaven  keep  your  Maj- 
esty :  and  when  they  stand  against  you,  may  they  fall,  as 
those  that  I  am  come  to  tell  you  of.  The  Prince  and 
Count  Melun  walking  in  my  orchard  were  thus, overheard 
by  a  man  of  mine :  the  Prince  discovered  to  the  Count 
that  he  meant  to  take  the  present  time  by  the  top,  and 


834  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 


instantly  break  with  you.  The  conclusion  is  he  will  put 
his  purpose  in  practice  presently. 

Xing  Henry  III.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit  that  told 
you  this  ? 

Gent.  A  good  sharp  fellow,  I  will  send  for  him,  and 
question  him  yourself. 

K.  Well,  we  will  hear  further  of  it,  but  let  it  cool 
the  while,  and  I  will  examine  if  peradventure  this  be 
true.  This  may  prove  food  to  my  displeasure. 

Gent.  Yea  my  lord,  but  I  can  cross  it. 

K.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment,  will  be 
medicinal  to  me.  I  am  sick  in  displeasure  to  him.  And 
whatsoever  comes  athwart  his  will  ranges  evenly  with 
mine.  You  will  assist  me  ? 

Gent.  To  the  death  my  lord. 

K.  Go  then  and  bring  the  fellow  into  presence.  I, 
in  the  meantime,  will  so  fashion  the  matter,  that  all  their 
preparations  shall  be  overthrown.  Grow  this  to  what 
adverse  issue  it  can,  I  will  put  it  in  practice  :  be  cunning 
in  the  working  of  this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Gent.  Be  thou  constant,  and  my  cunning  shall  not 
shame  me. 

K.  If  this  go  forward,  Henry's  hope  is  done,  for  in 
you  I  have  found  a  present  help  to  prevent  both  his  pur- 
pose and  deceit. 

Gent.  '  Tis  very  true. 

K.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  Constable, 
are  to  present  the  Prince's  own  person ;  if  you  meet  the 
Prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him.  Tell  him  the 
King  of  France,  on  serious  business  craving  quick  dis- 
patch, importunes  personal  conference  with  his  grace. 

Constable.  Proud  of  imployment,  willingly  I  go. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  835 

Gent.  Why  do  you  not  commit  him  to  the  Tower? 

K.  I  dare  not  for  the  people  love  him  well. 

Gent.  My  liege,  I  see  your  love  unto  Navarre 
Will  be  the  ruin  of  the  realm  and  you. 
Where  every  horse  bears  his  commanding  rein, 
And  may  direct  his  course  as  please  himself, 
As  well  the  fear  of  harm,  as  harm  apparent, 
In  my  opinion,  ought  to  be  prevented. 

K.  Let  not  conceit  thy  subtle  sense  beguile, 
Nor  daunted  be  through  envy  or  disdain. 
Now  to  plain  dealing,  thou  shalt  be  satisfied. 

Navarre.  Who  comes  here? 

Con.  A  nobleman  of  the  court 
Would  speak  with  you.     The  King  by  me  requires 
Your  presence  straight. 

N.  What  is  the  business  ? 

Con.  O  sir,  I  shall  be  hated  to  report  it. 
We  go  t'  determine  what  it  is. 

N.  Excuse  me, 

The  King  has  sent  me  otherwhere :     besides 
You'll  find  a  most  unfit  time  to  disturb  him. 
Is  this  an  hour  for  temporal  affairs  ?    Ha ! 
Go  to ;  I'll  make  you  know  your  times  of  business : 
It's  an  offence  to  stay  a  man  against  his  will. 

Con.  The  compact  that  I  should  you  hither  fetch, 
Is  firm  and  true  in  me,  and  should  be  put 
To  no  apparent  likelihood  of  breach. 
Therefore,  I  say  your  company  is  urg'd — 
Here  come  I  from  his  grace  to  tell  you  so. 
Take  heed  you  dally  not,  for  I'll  not  go 
Unless  you  will  accompany  me  thither. 


836  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

N.  The  net  has  fall'n  upon  me !  I  shall  perish 
Under  device,  and  practice. 

Count  Melun.  I  am  sorry 
To  see  you  ta'en  from  liberty,  to  look  on 
The  business  present. 

N.  It  will  help  me  nothing 
To  plead  my  innocence ;  for  that  dye  is  on  me 
Which  makes  my  whit'st  part  black.     The  will  of  Heaven 
Be  done  in  this  and  all  things :     I  obey. 
Dear  Count  your  hand  ;  fare  you  well. 

C.  M.  Farewell. 

Con.  Nay  he  must  bear  you  company.     You  must 
Contented  be  to  go  along  with  us ; 
It  is  his  Highness'  pleasure,  till  you  know 
How  he  determines  further. 

C.  M.  As  £he  Prince  said, 

The  will  of  Heaven  be  done,  and  the  King's  pleasure 
By  me  obey'd.     This  did  at  first  so  stagger  me, 
Bearing  a  state  of  mighty  moment  in  't, 
And  consequence  of  dread,  I  had  to  doubt 
You  did  entreat  his  Highness  to  this  course 
Which  you  are  running  here. 

N.  Got  you  your  leave 
To  make  this  present  summons  unsolicited? 
This  lawful  prove,  and  by  my  life,  contented 
Are  we  to  come  before  the  primest  creature, 
That's  paragon'd  o'  th'  world.     We'll  prove  that  we've* 
Committed  naught.     Thou  shalt  not  see  me  blush 
Nor  change  my  countenance  for  this  arrest : 
A  heart  unspotted  is  not  easily  daunted. 
The  purest  spring  is  not  so  free  from  mud, 
As  I  am  free  from  treason  to  my  sovereign. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  837 

Con.  Smooth  runs  the  water  where  the  brook  is  deep. 

N.  Who  can  accuse  me  ?     Wherein  am  I  guilty  ? 
Canst  thou  discern  one  blot  ?     Ah,  cruel  Fortune ! 
Why  shouldst  thou  wrest  my  fair  chance  thus  amiss  ? 

Con.  Affairs  that  walk  (as  they  say  spirits  do) 
At  midnight,  have  in  them  a  wilder  nature 
Than  th'  business  that  seeks  dispatch  by  day. 

C.  M.  O  friend,  think  at  what  ease 
Might  corrupt  minds  procure  knaves  as  corrupt 
To  swear  against  you :     such  things  have  been  done. 
You  are  potently  oppos'd,  and  with  a  malice 
Of  as  great  size.     Ween  you  of  better  luck  ? 
You  take  a  precepit  for  no  leap  of  danger, 
And  woo  your  own  destruction. 


King  Henry  ///.  See,  hoa !    who's  there  ? 

Con.  'Tis  I, 

All  service  I  have  done.     Thy  foe  is  taken 
And  their  negotiations  all  must  slack, 
Wanting  his  manage. 
I  did  your  Highness'  message  to  them  all. 

K.  Proud  recreants,  traitors  all,  fetch  them  hither. 
Is  the  Prince  there  in  person  ?     By  my  troth, 
I  knew  him  not ;  and  who  is  there  with  him  ? 

Con.  The  Queen,  and  th'  Count  whom  you  sent  me 
to  seek. 

K.  I  will  make  a  complimental  assault 
Upon  the  Prince,  for  my  business  seethes. 

Con.  Sodden  business,  there's  a  stew'd  phrase  indeed. 

K.  Fair  be  to  you  my  lord,  and  to  all  this 
Fair  company.     Why  art  thou  thus  attir'd? 

N.  Because  I  would  be  sure  to  have  all  well, 


8o-S  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

To  entertain  your  Highness  and  your  Queen. 
Was  it  well  done,  O  brother,  King  of  France  ? 

K.  Well  bandied,  a  set  of  wit  well  play'd. 
But,  good  Navarre,  indeed  you  weigh  me  not : 
A  reason  mighty,  strong  and  effectual 
Urg'd  me  to  send  for  you. 

N.  Pray  sir,  your  pardon — 

K.  Nay,  hear  me  speak  before  you  answer,  sir. 
Of  late  your  Highness  has  been  slack  in  homage. 
Who  am  I?     Ha! 

N.  A  gracious  King  that  pardons  all  offences, 
Malice  ne'er  meant ;  and  breach  of  duty  in  me, 
Pray  Heaven,  the  King  may  never  find.     I  come 
To  know  your  royal  pleasure. 

K.  I  like  it  not  that  thou  shouldst  grow  so  pert. 
This  humor  grieves  me  not,  but  makes  jne  impatient. 
I  am  advertis'd  of  thy  full  intent 
T'  depart  from  here  and  gather  flocks  of  friends. 
A  noble  attempt  and  honorable  deed 
Is  it  not, — trow!  thus  to  assemble  aid, 
And  1 3vy  arms  against  your  lawful  King  ? 
Thou  rt  worthy  to  be  hang'd,  but  I'll  commit  thee 
A  prisoner  to  bonds,  and  no  man  can  affirm 
But  that  these  be  the  operations  of  a  law, 
Proceeding  forth  from  th'  natural  dignity 
Of  the  true  King  and  Sovereign  of  France. 
There  shalt  thou  stay,  until  to  me  with  knees 
Fixed  on  ground,  thou'lt  swear  allegiance. 

N.  Thou  art  no  more  my  King,  for  thou'st  dishonor'd 

me. 

And  Henry,  what  art  thou  but  mortal  wight  ? 
For  all  that  ever  thou  hast  got,  or  won  by  force, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  839 

Thou  owest  to  the  wicked  arts  and  wily  skill, — 
Too  false  and  strong  from  earthly  source  to  spring, — 
Of  the  Queen-mother :  all  unwares  we  wrought 
Into  her  wicked  will — fair  Margaret  and  I — 
And  I'm  betray'd  when  least  I  feared  ill. 

K.  Silence,  accursed  man !  hold  thou  thy  tongue ! 
What !  was  I  born  to  be  the  scorn  of  kin  ? 
To  gather  feathers  like  a  hopper-crow 
And  lose  them  in  the  height  of  all  my  pomp? 
O  what  are  subtle  means  to  climb  on  high, 
When  every  fall  swarms  with  exceeding  shame  ? 
If  hell  and  treason  hold  their  promises, 
Then  kings  may  hope  for  ease  and  happiness. 
Drawn  by  ambition's  golden  hooks  I  rested  not, 
Until  this  crown  my  princely  temples  grac'd. 
But  drudges,  negroes,  slaves  and  muleteers 
Are  freer  far  than  is  the  King  of  France : 
For  while  I  sweat  in  care,  they  swink  in  glee, 
Content  with  silly  cates  or  beds  of  boards ! 

"  When  the  King's  -wrath  was  pacified  he  'gan 
Renew  the  late  unfruitful  search  for  aught 
Of  dishonor,  wherewith  t'  reproach  the  Prince ; 
And  call'd  me  to  his  side,  and  sternly  said  : — 

K.  Divulge  these  plots  you  share  together,  boy ; 
It  is  your  due  unto  your  Sovereign. 
Hast  enter'd  into  a  secret  conspiracy 
To  favor  the  Duke's  title  to  my  crown  ? 
Ha !    I'll  begin  to  keep  a  calendar  of  fools 
Like  Bresquet,  jester  to  my  •ancestor 
Who  bore  your  name,  and  boy,  I'll  put  you  in  't. 
In  confidence  I'll  tell  the  reason  why — 


840  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

You  are  full  of  heavenly  stuff,  and  bear  the  inventory 

Of  your  best  graces  in  your  mind,  the  which 

You  were  now  running  o'er  unheedfully. 

You're  fine  and  brisk  as  is  a  cup  of  wine, 

But  you,  your  love  unto  the  Prince  do  not  conceal, 

While  yet  the  place  of  your  abode  is  with  the  King ; 

Your  heart  hath  left  your  body  here  in  court, 

And  lies  pavilion'd  in  the  fields  of  France. 

F.  B.  0  let  the  body  follow,  my  dear  liege. 

K  Tut,  tut  boy ! 

I  know  you  venturous  and  well  deserving, 
And  you  shall  be  my  messenger  anon. 

"  But  what  said  Henry's  Queen? 
For  I  have  heard  that  she  was  there  in  place.'' 

"The  royal  lady  gravely  steppeth  forth, 
And  on  the  ground  herself  prostrating  low, 
With  sober  countenance  thus  to  him  saith  : — 

M.  O  pardon  me,  my  sovereign  lord,  to  show 
How  Heaven  will  one  day  open  the  King's  eyes. 
Aye !  he  himself  hath  such  a  heavy  reckoning 
To  make,  that  ill  beseems  him,  such  as  I  him  see 
To  work  such  shame :  therefore,  I  thee  exhort 
To  change  thy  will  and  yield  his  liberty. 
Think  how  he's  tied  unto  thy  sister  dear, 
With  sacred  rites,  and  vows  forever  to  abide. 
But  if  thou  tear  him  from  me,  leave  me  thus  alone, 
Then  galling  grief  and  I  may  yoke  in  one. 
What  will  the  people  say  ?     They  love  their  Queen, 
And  they  are  chary  of  my  soul  and  joy. 
List ! — '  Look  where  the  sister  of  the  King  of  France 
Sits  wringing  of  her  hands  and  beats  her  breast ; 


At  the  Court  of  France.  841 

The  King  I  fear  hath  sore  ill-treated  her, — ' 
That  shalt  thou  hear  if  thou  do  me  this  wrong. 
The  lands  are  lean,  where  rivers  do  not  run : 
Where  soul  is  reft  from  that  it  loveth  best, 
How  can  it  thrive,  or  boast  of  quiet  rest  ? 
Thou  know'st  the  Prince's  loss  must  be  my  death ; 
His  grief,  my  grief ;  his  mischief  must  be  mine ; 
O  if  thou  love  me,  proceed  thou  not  in  this. 
Summarily  deliver  him,  and  to  thy  credit 
'Twill  be  set  down  as  the  most  memorable 
Of  acts,  whose  glorious  bright  shining 
Lightens  the  world  with  its  reflecting  beams. 

0  wilt  thou  let  so  great  a  glory  slip  thy  hands  ? 
The  blood  and  courage  that  renown'd  his  father 
Runs  in  his  veins ;  my  thrice  puissant  liege 

Is  in  the  very  May-morn  of  his  youth, 
Ripe  for  exploits  and  mighty  enterprises. 

K.  Silence !  by  this  pale  queen  of  night  I  swear 

1  am  so  far  from  granting  thy  request, 
That  I  despise  thee  for  thy  wrongful  suit ; 
And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself, 
Even  for  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 
Leave  me  awhile. 

M.  If  I  have  thought  no  pains  too  much, 
I  beseech  thee  to  think  no  time  too  long. 

"  Then  standing  at  the  door  she  turn'd  about 
As  loathe  to  see  her  husband  going  out. 
I  follow'd  with  a  thought  to  comfort  him, 
And  as  we  walk'd,  we  discours'd  thus  : — 

F.  B.  The  King 
Is  pleas'd  you  shall,  some  day  or  two, 


842  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Repose  you  at  the  Tower;  then  where  you  please, 
And  shall  be  thought  most  fit  for  your  best  health 
And  recreation. 

N.  Aye  ,  and  there's  no  doubt 
His  Majesty  hath  straightly  given  in  charge, 
That  no  man  shall  have  private  conference 
(Of  what  degree  soever)  with  me  now. 

F.  B.  Dear  Prince,  farewell ;  I  will  unto  the  King, 
And  whatsoe'er  you  will  employ  me  in, 
I  will  perform  it  to  enfranchise  you. 
Meantime,  this  deep  disgrace  in  brotherhood 
Touches  me  deeper  than  you  can  imagine. 

N.  I  know  it  pleaseth  neither  of  us  well. 

F.  B.  Well,  your  imprisonment  shall  not  be  long  ; 
I  will  deliver  you,  or  else  lie  for  you : 
Meantime,  have  patience. 

N.  You  have  said  well, 
And  'tis  a  kind  of  good  deed  to  say  well, 
And  yet  words  are  no  deeds. 

F.  B.  I'll  yoke  together 
My  doing  well  with  my  well  saying,  Prince, 
And  with  my  deed  will  crown  my  word  upon  you. 
The  Lord  protect  us  in  this  business. 

N.  Be  not  ta'en  tardy  by  unwise  delay. 
But  speak  not  further  to  me ;  get  thee  gone. 

F.  B.  Be   of  good   cheer;  I'll   first   take   Margaret 

hence, 

Which  done,  I  then  will  leave  the  readiest  way, 
For  there's  another  secret  close  intent, 
Which  I  must  reach  unto. 

N.  Even  so  were  best  to  do. 

"  Here  quoth  the  guard  : — 


At  the  Court  of  France.  843 

Guard.  I  do  beseech  your  grace 
To  pardon  me,  and  withal  to  forbear 
Your  conference  with  this  noble  youth. 

W.  I  tell  you  fellow,  that  he  hath  done  nought; 
You  may  partake  of  anything  we  say : 
We  speak  no  treason  man ;  we  say  the  King 
Is  wise  and  virtuous,  and  hath  a  pleasing  tongue. 
How  say  you  sir  ?  can  you  deny  all  this  ? 

G.  With  this,  my  lord,  myself  have  nought  to  do. 
I'm  charg'd  to  take  you  solie  to  the  Tower. 
This  swears  he,  as  he  is  a  prince,  is  just, 
And  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  credit  him. 

F.  B.  We  know  thy  charge,  Captain,  and  will  obey. 

N.  We  are  the  King's  abjects  and  must  obey. 

"  Thus  they  in  dungeon  deep  did  lay  him  low, 
And  hand  and  foot  with  iron  chain  did  bind  him. 
Myself  heard  the  King  swear  he  should  not  ran- 

som'd  be : 

Who  then  would  think  that  by  his  subtle  trains, 
Foul  death  or  deadly  pains  he  could  escape? 
Have  shaken  off  the  thraldom  of  the  Tower 
And  liv'd  to  advance  the  standard  of  the  Duke? 
But  so  the  event  did  prove  as  thou  shalt  see. 
Confinement  irk'd  him  ;  this  to  me  he  wrote  : — 

•  Nor  I,  nor  any  man,  that  but  man  is, 
With  nothing  shall  be  pleas'd,  till  he  be  eas'd 
With  being  nothing.     Music  do  I  hear  ? 
Ha,  ha" !  keep  time :  how  sour  sweet  music  is 
When  time  is  broke,  and  no  proportion  kept; 
So  is  it  in  the  music  of  men's  lives  : 
And  here  have  I  the  daintiness  of  ear, 


844  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

To  hear  time  broke  in  a  disorder'd  string : 

But  for  the  concord  of  my  state  and  time, 

Had  not  an  ear  to  hear  my  true  time  broke. 

I  wasted  time,  and  now  doth  Time  waste  me : 

For  now  hath  Time  made  me  his  numb'ring  clock ; 

My  thoughts  are  minutes ;  and  with  sighs  they  jar, 

Their  watches  on  unto  mine  eyes,  the  outward  watch, 

Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point, 

Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  them  from  tears. 

Now  sir,  the  sound  that  tells  what  hour  it  is, 

Are  clamorous  groans  that  strike  upon  my  heart, 

Which  is  the  bell :  so  sighs,  and  tears,  and  groans, 

Show  minutes,  hours,  and  times :  but  my  time 

Runs  posting  on,  in  the  Valois'  proud  joy, 

While  I  stand  fooling  here,  his  jack  o'  th'  clock. 

This  music  mads  me,  let  it  sound  no  more, 

For  though  it  have  holp  madmen  to  their  wits. 

In  me  it  seems  it  will  make  wise-men  mad : 

Yet  blessing  on  his  heart  that  gives  it  me ; 

For  'tis  a  sign  of  love,  and  love  to  Henry, 

Is  a  strange  brooch,  in  this  all-hating  world. 

"  For  long  I  cannot  with  the  King  prevail, 
To  win  him  greater  favor  than  release  from  bonds 
But  when  the  royal  anger  hath  blown  o'er, 
The  King  himself  begins  to  show  to  him, 
A  countenance  most  gracious  and  benign. 
He  hath  good  usage  and  great  liberty, 
And  often,  but  attended  with  weak  guard, 
Comes  hunting  this  way  to  disport  himself; 
For  hunting  is  his  daily  exercise, 
And  Margaret  likewise  speedeth  her  time  thus. 
A  well-known  voice  one  morning  said  to  me  : — 


At  the  Court  of  France.  845 

C.  M.  Francis,  we  hunt  not  we,  with  horse  nor  hound, 
But  hope  to  pluck  some  noble  game  to  ground. 
This  day  they  both  a  hunting  forth  will  ride 
Into  the  woods  adjoining  to  these  walls; 
Come,  come,  our  Margaret  with  her  sacred  wit 
To  villainy  and  vengeance  consecrate, 
Will  we  acquaint  with  all  that  we  intend, 
And  she  shall  file  our  engines  witji  advice, 
That  will  not  suffer  you  to  square  yourselves, 
But  to  your  wishes'  height  advance  you  both. 
The  court,  alas,  is  like  the  house  of  Fame, 
The  palace  full  of  tongues,  of  eyes,  of  ears : 
The  woods  are  ruthless,  dreadful,  deaf  and  dull : 
There  speak  and  strike. 

F.  B.  I  know  thy  errand,  I  will  go  with  thee : 
The  day,  my  friend,  and  all  things  stay  for  me. 

C.  M.  The  hunt  is  up,  the  morn  is  bright  and  gray, 
The  fields  are  fragrant,  and  the  woods  are  green, 
Uncouple  here  and  let  us  make  a  bay, 
And  rouse  the  Prince  and  ring  a  hunter's  peal, 
That  all  the  court  may  echo  with  the  noise : 
'Tis  thought  you  have  a  goodly  gift  in  horning, 
And  you  are  singled  forth  to  try  experiments. 
Here  will  we  wait  the  Prince  and  Margaret ; 
She  posted  down  not  long  since  from  the  court, 
And  he,  we  hear,  has  ridden  with  his  lords. 
I  have  been  troubled  in  my  sleep  this  night, 
But  dawning  day  new  comfort  hath  inspir'd. 
'Tis  policy  and  stratagem  that  must  do 
That  you  affect,  and  so  must  you  resolve, 
That  what  you  cannot  as  you  would  achieve 
You  must  perforce  accomplish  as  you  may : 


846  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

A  speedier  course  than  ling'ring  languishment 
Must  we  pursue,  and  I  have  found  the  path : 
The  forest  walks  are  wide  and  spacious, 
And  many  unfrequented  plots  there  are, 
Fitted  by  kind  for  secret  conference  : 
This  morning  see  you  do  appear  before  them — 
Th'  occasion  shall  instruct  you  what  to  do, 
And  well  can  I  trust  to  your  bravery. 

F.  B.  I  have  advertis'd  him  by  secret  means, 
That  if  about  this  hour  he  make  this  way, 
Under  the  color  of  his  usual  game, 
He  shall  here  find  his  friends  with  horse  and  men, 
To  set  him  free  from  his  captivity. 

C.  M.  Thy  counsel  lad,  smells  of  no  cowardice. 

F.  B.  This  motion  likes  me  well ;  let  us  progress 
"Withouten  stay  our  utmost  aid  to  give. 

'•  Fair  was  their  sport  among  the  fallow  deer  ; 
The  Princess  kill'd  a  pricket,  and  Navarre, 
Foll'wing  the  hounds  brought  down  a  noble  stag  ; 
When,  in  the  midst  of  all  their  gamesome  sports, 
Navarre  drew  rein  at  the  fair  Margaret's  side  : — 

N.  Indeed  this  is  a  hap  most  fortunate : 
My  lovely  Margaret,  wherefore  look'st  thou  sad, 
When  everything  doth  make  a  gleeful  boast  ? 
The  birds  chant  melody  on  every  bush, 
The  snake  lies  rolled  in  the  cheerful  sun, 
The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind, 
And  make  a  checker'd  shadow  on  the  ground : 
Under  their  sweet  shade,  Margaret,  let  us  sit, 
And  whilst  the  babbling  echo  mock  the  hounds, 
Replying  shrilly  to  the  well-tun'd  horns, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  847 

As  if  a  double  hunt  were  heard  at  once, 

Let  us  sit  down,  and  mark  their  yelping  noise : 

And  after  conflict,  such  as  was  suppos'd 

The  wand'ring  Prince  and  Dido  once  enjoy'd, 

When  with  a  happy  storm  they  were  surpris'd, 

And  curtain'd  with  a  counsel-keeping  cave, 

We  may,  each  wreathed  in  the  other's  arms, 

(Our  pastimes  done)  possess  a  golden  slumber, 

Whiles  hounds,  and  horns,  and  sweet  melodious  birds, 

Be  unto  us  as  is  a  nurse's  song 

Of  lullaby,  to  bring  her  babe  asleep. 

"  A  hunter  said  aside  : — 

Hunter.  Fond  done,  done  fond, 
This  haste  hath  wings,  indeed ;  nay,  come  your  ways. 

"  But  the  old  keeper  answer'd  : — 

Keeper.  By  my  troth, 

I'm  he  that  dares  to  leave  the  two  together. 
Come,  amorous  wag,  first  banquet  and  then  sleep  : 
Fare-you-well,  Prince  Navarre ;  now,  fair  one,  follow. 

"  While  to  the  younger  men  he  gave  command  : — 

K.  Sons,  let  it  be  your  charge,  as  it  is  ours, 
To  attend  the  Prince's  person  carefully. 

"  Soon  all  is  silent  in  the  shaded  lodge, 
And  then  I  well  observe  how  sleep  hath  overcome 
Keeper  and  prisoner  and  all  the  company, 
And  the  Count  whispers  to  me  : — 

C.  M.  Leave  off  to  wonder  why  I  drew  you  hither, 
Into  the  chiefest  thicket  of  the  park ; 


848  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Thus  stands  the  case,  the  swifter  speed  the  better : 
To  have  an  open  ear,  a  quick  eye,  and 
A  nimble  hand  is  necessary. 

F.  B.  I  understand ;  it  shall  be  quickly  done. 

C.  M.  Come  then,  away,  let's  have  no  more  ado. 

"  With  all  speed,  thus  I  steal  close  to  the  place ; 
Still  as  I  stand,  I  hear  with  grievous  throb 
Him  groan,  as  if  his  heart  were  rent  in  twain, 
Or  trouble  sore  oppress'd  his  struggling  soul. 
Brave  Margaret  would  not  for  courtesy 
Out  of  his  quiet  slumber  him  abrade, 
Nor  seem  too  suddenly  him  to  invade, 
But  time  is  passing  and  I  dare  not  wait. 
J  wake  the  Prince  with  but  a  touch  and  say  : — 

F.  B.  Up,  up,  I  pray  thee ;  silence ! — follow  me. 
"  Softly  he  murmur 'd  : — 

N.  Ah  my  sweet  Margaret, 
Sweeter  to  me  than  life, — farewell,  farewell. 

M.  More  than  melodious  are  these  words  to  me, 
For  my  desire  is  thine,  my  love,  my  lord. 
My  life  depends  upon  my  lord's  relief. 

"  Then  followed  a  long  kiss  of  farewell 
Betwixt  these  two  whose  loves  were  so  alike. 

F.  B.  This  way,  this  way ;  see  where  the  huntsmen 

stand ! 

Dear  Prince,  the  time  and  case  requireth  haste ; 
Your  horse  stands  ready  at  the  park  corner, 
In  secret  ambush  on  the  forest  side. 
Shield  you  from  Henry's  frown ;  away,  away ! 
It  must  be  done  this  afternoon, — do  not  delay. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  849 

N.  I  thank  thee,  boy. 

F.  B.  If  to  have  done  the  thing  you  gave  in  charge 
Beget  your  happiness,  be  happy  then, 
For  it  is  done.     I  take  my  leave,  farewell ; 
Fair  thoughts  and  happy  hours  attend  011  you. 

N.  Farewell,  brave  boy ;  aye,  fare-you-well  indeed. 
Take  from  my  mouth  the  wish  of  happy  years. 
Never  did  captive  with  a  freer  heart, 
Cast  off  his  chains  of  bondage,  and  embrace  » 

His  golden,  uncontroll'd  enfranchisement, 
More  than  my  dancing  soul  doth  celebrate 
This  feast  of  battle  with  mine  adversary, 
For  now  I  cast  my  fortunes  with  the  Duke. 
As  gentle  and  as  jocund  as  to  jest, 
Go  I  to  fight.      Truth  hath  a  quiet  breast. 
But  Francis,  after  God,  thou  set'st  me  free, 
And  chiefly  therefore  I  thank  God  and  thee, — 
He  was  the  Author,  thou  the  instrument. 

F.  B.  Thy  tears  have  pierc'd  the  piteous  throne  of  grace, 
Thy  sighs  like  incense  pleasing  to  the  Lord, 
Have  been  peace-offerings  for  thy  former  pride ; 
Rejoice,  and  praise  His  name  that  gave  thee  peace. 
But  wherefore  stay  we  ?     'Tis  no  time  to  talk. 

"He  speeds  away.     Hark  !  what  is  this  I  hear? 
'Tis  but  the  Princess  come  to  meet  me  here. 

N.  O  Francis,  help  me  with  thy  fainting  hand, 
If  fear  hath  made  thee  faint,  as  me  it  hath. 
Where  is  my  lord,  the  King  ?  where  left  you  him  ? 

F.  B.  Great  Jove  will  shield  your  husband,  be  assur'd ; 
Now  is  he  safe  forever,  being  free, 
And  no  man  knows  of  his  pretense  save  Count  Melun 


850  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  I,  and  none  but  we  know  whither  he  is  gone. 

But,  Princess,  question  me  no  more,  'beseech  thee; 

Here  comes  a  body  of  thy  brother's  soldiers, 

And  knights  and  gentlemen  at  least  three-score : 

The  park  is  all  alive.     Hark !  he  is  miss'd. 

They'll  put  us  to  our  answer.     Well,  'tis  done : 

We'll  hunt  no  more  to-day,  nor  seek  for  danger 

Where  there  is  no  profit. 

*       M.  Pray  you  a  word. 

What  I  do  next,  shall  be  to  tell  the  King 

Of  this  escape,  and  whither  they  are  bound, 

Wherein,  my  hope  is,  I  shall  so  prevail, 

To  force  him  after :  in  whose  company 

I  shall  re-view  the  country,  for  whose  sight, 

I  have  a  woman's  longing.     Fortune  speed  us : 

Thus  we  set  on. 

F.  B.  The  swifter  speed  the  better. 

M.  Ha,  ha !  my  brother  was  too  careless  of  his  charge. 
But  let  us  hence,  my  sweet  ^Prince,  to  provide 
A  salve  for  any  sore  that  may  betide. 

F.  B.  Hark,  hark !  what  says  the  officer  ? 

King*8  Officer.  Was  that  the  King   that   spurrd  his 

horse  so  hard, 
Against  the  steep  uprising  of  the  hill  ? 

Forester.  I  know  not,  but  I  think  it  was  not  he. 
Whoe'er  he  was,  he  show'd  a  mounting  mind. 

K.  0.  Thou  dost  but  jest,  thou  hateful  misty-mouth. 
In  most  unlucky  hour.     Nay  then,  I'll  stop 
Thy  mouth;    go  find  the  King  straightway,  thou  knave. 

For.  The  King  ?  Navarre  ?  he  is  hunting  the  deer ; 
I  am  coursing  myself. 

"  But  the  keeper  made  answer  : — 


At  the  Court  of  France.  851 

Keeper.  He  and  his  lady  both,  are  at  the  lodge, 
Upon  the  north  side  of  this  pleasant  chase ; 
'Tis  not  an  hour  since  I  left  him  there. 

K.  0.  We  know  not  where  you  left  him,  he's  not  there. 
But  there's  his  lady !     See  that  you  make  sure 
In  the  first  place,  of  her,  then  fail  thou  not 
To  bring  her  husband,  on  pain  to  be  found 
Both  false  and  recreant  to  the  King  of  France. 

First  Huntsman.  This  way,  my  lord,  for  this  way  lies 
the  game. 

Second  Huntsman.  The  fox  is  'scap'd  but  here's  his 

case; 
I  miss'd  him  near :  'twas  time  for  him  to  trudge. 

"  On  their -return,  they  informed  the  King 
The  state  of  these  affairs,  and  how  the  Prince 
Was  far  from  any  true  meaning  of  peace, 
And  therefore  he  must  now  advise  some  other  course. 
Alas,  that  Henry  had  no  more  forecast, 
But  whiles  he  thought  to  steal  the  single  ten, 
The  King  was  slyly  finger'd  from  the  deck. 
He,  very  angry,  rages  like  a  beast : 
The  court-of-guard  is  put  unto  the  sword, 
And  all  the  watch  that  thought  themselves  so  sure, 
So  that  not  one  within  the  castle  breathes, 
On  whom  suspicion  rested." 

"  Pray  let  me  hear  how  Margaret  did  fare, 
When  she  her  message  to  the  King  did  bring." 

"  I  heard  her  not  at  her  first  interview, 
But  later  as  I  came  with  letters  for  him, — 
Feigning  to  bring  them  from  the  Duke  myself, 
That  he  imagine  not  the  aid  I'd  given 
Unto  the  captive  when  he  took  his  flight, — 
I  met  the  Guise  crossing  the  palace  court,  and  said  : — 


852  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  B.  Come  you  to  hear,  my  lord,  how  fares  Navarre  ? 

Guise.  Why  ?  is  he  not  with  th'  Queen  ? 

F.  B.  No,  my  good  lord,  he  hath  forsook  the  court, 
Broken  his  staff  of  office,  and  now  flieth 
Unto  Alenyon,  as  I  do  suspect. 

(?.  What  was  his  reason  ?     He  was  not  so  resolv'd 
When  we  last  spake  together. 

F.  B.  But  he's  gone, 

My  lord,  to  offer  service  to  the  Duke  Anjou ; 
Have  you  forgot  the  Duke?     All  fly  to  him. 

G.  Why,  foolish  boy,  the  King  is  left  behind, 
And  in  my  loyal  bosom  lies  his  power. 

Were  I  but  now  the  lord  of  such  hot  youth, 

As  that  young  Mars  and  those  that  follow  him, — 

Those  cull'd  and  choice-drawn  cavaliers,  that  come 

« 

From  forth  the  ranks  of  many  thousand  French, 

Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof, 

Fathers,  that  like  so  many  Alexanders, 

Have  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, — 

I'd  undertake  to  manage  these  our  wars. 

The  dreadful  judgment  day  so  dreadful  will  not  be 

As  th'  battles  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts  I'd  fight. 

But  thus  it  is,  and  boy,  to  speak  more  plainly, — 

Being  animated  by  religious  zeal, — 

All  France  is  over-run  with  Huguenots, 

And  more  than  carefully  it  us  concerns, 

To  answer  royally  in  our  defences. 

F.  B.  But  France,  my  gracious  lord,  is  idly  king'd. 
Her  sceptre  so  phantastically  borne, 
By  a  vain,  giddy,  shallow,  humorous  youth, 
That  fear  attends  her  not.     Young  as  I  am, 
I  have  observ'd  these  things,  and  understand. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  853 

0.  You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  King : 
Question,  my  boy,  the  late  ambassadors, 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy, 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counselors, 
How  modest  in  exception ;  and  withal, 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution  : 
And  you  shall  find,  his  vanities  fore-spent, 
Were  but  the  outside  of  the  Roman  Brutus, 
Covering  discretion  with  a  coat  of  folly, 
As  gardeners  do  with  ordure  hide  those  roots 
That  shall  first  spring,  and  be  most  delicate. 

F.  B.  In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  modest  stillness,  and  humility : 

But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 

Then  should  we  be  as  the  wild  beast  of  prey : 

Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect : 

Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head, 

Like  the  brass  cannon ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it, 

As  fearfully,  as  doth  a  galled  rock 

O'er-hang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 

Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 

G.  'Tis  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  hate  the  Church, 
Wherein  the  King  stands  generally  condemn'd. 

If  judgment  lie  in  them,  then  so  do  we, 
Because  we  have  been  ever  near  the  King. 
Besides  our  nearness  to  the  King  in  love, 
Is  near  the  hate  of  those  love  not  the  King. 

F.  B.  Know  you  this  prophecy  so  mystical  ? 
1  From  forth  the  royal  garden,  ere  long  time, 
Shall  flourish  out  so  rich  and  fair  a  bud, 
Whose  brightness  shall  deface  proud  Phoebus'  flower, 
And  overshadow  with  her  leaves  all  France. 


854  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Till  then,  Mars  shall  be  master  of  the  field ; 
But  then,  the  stormy  threats  of  war  shall  cease, 
The  horse  shall  stamp  as  careless  of  the  pipe, 
And  drums  be  turn'd  to  timbrels  of  delight.' 

G.  'Tis  of  fair  Margaret,  proud  lovely  star, 
Catherine's  fair  daughter,  the  fairest  ever  was,  * 

Approved  spouse  of  Navarre's  haughty  king. 

"  Some  strange  commotion 
Is  in  his  brain.     He  bites  his  lip,  and  starts, 
Stops  on  a  sudden,  looks  upon  the  ground, 
Then  lays  his  finger  on  his  temple  :  straight 
Springs  out  into  fast  gait,  then  stops  again. 

0.  But  we  shall  see  what  strange  event  shall  happen. 
I  mean  to  muster  all  the  power  I  can 
To  overthrow  these  factious  Puritans. 
Navarre,  that  cloaks  them  underneath  his  wings, 
Shall  find  the  house  of  Lorraine  is  his  foe, 
Eke  though  Anjou  doth  take  his  part — Anjou, 
Who  is  so  harsh,  so  blunt,  unnatural 
To  bend  the  fatal  instruments  of  war 
Against  his  brother  and  his  lawful  king. 

F.'B,  Guise,  and  Navarre:  what  is  in  that  Navarre? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy ;  conjure  with  'em, 
And  Guise  will  start  a  spirit  soon  as  Navarre. 
Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Navarre  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great  ?     Age,  thou  art  sham'd. 
France,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  855 

When  went  there  Ijy  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  fam'd  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 
When  could  they  say,  (till  now,)  that  talk'd  of  Paris, 
That  her  wide  walks  encompass'd  but  one  man  ? 

G.  Think  not  but  I  am  tragical  within 
However  calm  I  outward  bear  myself: 
Upon  the  haughty  mountain  of  my  breast 
Revenge  encamps.     For  this  once,  unto  them 
I  too  will  prophesy,  but  in  such  wise 
That  they  shall  neither  boast,  nor  we  be  hurt 
In  any  kind  of  wise.     Follow  me,  boy  ! 
Work,  work  your  thoughts,  and  therein  see  a  siege : 
Behold  the  ordnance  on  their  carriages, 
With  fatal  mouths  gaping  on  girded  towns : 
Suppose  the  herald  from  the  Duke  comes  back ; 
Tells  Henry  that  Navarre  doth  offer  him 
The  terms  of  treaty  with  the  Huguenots. 
The  offer  likes  not :  and  the  nimble  gunner 
With  linstock  now  the  divellish  cannon  touches, 
And  down  goes  all  before  them.     Still  be  kind 
And  eke  out  our  performance  with  your  mind. 
What  would  avail  a  castle  all  of  steel, 
When  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere  enraged  fly 
Such  fiery  balls,  such  missiles  deadly  swift  ? 

F.  B.  These  are  but  wild  and  hurling  words,  my  lord, 
Fm  not  a  schoolboy  now,  whom  you  may  overawe. 
Give  me  a  sword.     I  too  will  fight  for  France, 
But  I  would  lend  my  arm  unto  the  Duke. 

0.  I'm  sorry  they  offend  thee  heartily ; 
Y"es,  faith,  heartily,  thou  art  so  gracious. 
But  wherefore  go'st  thou  to  the  wars  with  us  ? 
Thou  art  a  stranger  here, — 'tis  not  thy  cause. 


856  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  B.  Wilt  answer  me  one  thing  that  I  shall  ask 
Of  thee?     Wherefore  hast  thou  determined 
So  hard  a  part  against  these  righteous  people, 
To  follow  and  pursue  the  banished, 
Whereas  to  God  alone  belongs  revenge? 
And  wherefore  vex  thy  spirit  so,  my  lord  ? 
The  Pope  and  King  of  Spain  are  thy  good  friends ; 
The  King  doth  seek  alliance  with  thee  now. 

O.  True,  and  know  you  the  Pope  will  sell  his  triple 

crown ; 

Aye,  and  the  Catholic  Philip,  King  of  Spain, 
Ere  I  shall  want,  will  cause  his  Indians 
To  rip  the  golden  bowels  of  America. 

F.  B.  Pull  off  the  sprigs  from  this  Hesperian  tree, 
My  lord,  to  win  the  golden  fruit ;  the  ground 
Whereon  it  grows,  the  grass,  the  root  of  gold ; 
The  body  and  the  bark  of  gold  all  glistering; 
The  leaves  of  burnish'd  gold ;  the  fruits  that  thereon  grow, — 
Or  thus  the  fabulous  tales  told  of  it, — 
Yet  all  is  not  gold  that  doth  golden  seem : 
But  if  the  King  of  Spain  is  honest  with  you, 
'Twere  well,  indeed,  and  I  would  say,  accept 
This  Indian  gold  to  coin  you  French  ecues. 
But  hark  you,  pray,  the  King  is  coming :  you 
And  I  must  speak  with  him,  and  with  his  sister. 
His  grace  looks  cheerfully  and  smooth  this  morning, 
There's  some  conceit  or  other  likes  him  well, 
When  that  he  bids  good  morning  with  such  spirit. 
I  think  there's  never  a  man  in  Christendom 
Can  lesser  hide  his  love,  or  hate,  than  he, 
For  by  his  face  straight  shall  you  know  his  heart. 

O.  What  of  his  heart  perceive  you  in  his  face. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  s." 

By  any  livelihood  he  show'd  to-day? 

F.  B.  Marry,  that  with  no  man  here  he  is  offended, 
For  were  he,  he  had  shown  it  in  his  looks. 

Enter  the  King,  Margaret  and  Lords. 
God  bless  your  majesty,  my  duty  to  your  Grace. 

K.  How  now  ?  cam'st  thou  from  Francis,  Duke  Anjou  ? 

F.  B.  Aye,  please  your  Majesty,  and  from  Navarre, 
Who  very  gallantly's  gone  off  with  him. 

K.  I  prithee,  pretty  boy,  who  told  thee  this? 

F.  B.  I  cannot  tell  who  told  me,  but  'tis  true. 
These  letters  are  for  you,  sent  from  your  brother ; 
These  from  Navarre  unto  your  majesty; 
And,  madam,  thes"e  for  you,  from  whom  I  know  not. 

K.  Letters  from  him?  why  comes  he  not  himself? 

"  I  like  it  well  that  the  fair  Margaret 
Smiles  at  her  news,  while  the  King  frowns  at  his 
And  stamps  as  he  were  nettled.     He   is   vex'd   at 

something — 

I  would  'twere  something  y  would  fret  the  string, 
The  master-chord  on's  heart.      Why  how  now,  gen- 
tlemen, 

What  see  you  in  those  papers,  that  you  lose 
So  much  complexion?     Look  you  how  they  change  ; 
Their  cheeks  are  paper.     Why,  what  read  you  there 
That  have  so  cowarded  and  chas'd  your  blood 
Out  of  apparence.     The  King's  cheek  is  pale, 
The  angry  spot  doth  grow  upon  his  brow, 
And  all  the  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train ; 
The  Guise  looks  with  such  ferret,  and  such  fiery  eyes, 
As  we  have  seen  him  in  the  chambers  oft, 
Being  cross'd  in  conference  by  some  Councillors. 
I  hope  all's  for  the  .best.     Now  the  King  speaks  : — 


858  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

K.  What  are  your  news  Queen  Margaret? 

M.  Mine,  such  as  fill  my  heart  with  unhop'd  joys. 
And  yours,  your  Majesty  ? 

K.  Mine  full  of  sorrow  and  heart's  discontent. 
What !  has  your  King  married  you,  sweet  sister, 
And  now  to  soothe  your  forgery,  and  his, 
Sends  me  a  paper  to  persuade  me  patience  ? 
Is  this  th'  alliance  that  he  seeks  with  me  ? 
Dare  he  presume  to  scorn  us  in  this  manner  ? 

M.  I  told  your  majesty  as  much  before  : 
This  proveth  Francis'  love,  and  Henry's  honesty. 

Lorraine.  Fatal  this  marriage,  cancelling  your  fame, 
Blotting  your  names  from  books  of  memory, 
'Razing  the  characters  of  your  renown, 
Undoing  all,  as  all  had  never  been. 

M.  I  prithee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows. 

K.  It  gives  a  guerdon  of  good  will  to  make 
My  glory  glance,  so  boldly  to  attempt 
A  thing  like  this  here  in  my  father's  land ! 
Feed  not  thy  sovereign's  foe,  my  gentle  earth, 
Nor  with  thy  sweets  comfort  his  ravenous  sense, 
But  let  thy  spiders,  that  suck  up  thy  venom, 
And  heavy-gaited  toads  lie  in  their  way, 
Doing  annoyance  to  the  treacherous  feet, 
Which  with  usurping  steps  do  trample  thee. 
Yield  stinging  nettles  to  mine  enemies, 
And  when  they  from  thy  bosom  pluck  a  flower, 
Guard  it,  I  prithee,  with  a  lurking  adder, 
Whose  double  tongue  may  with  a  mortal  touch 
Throw  death  upon  thy  sovereign's  enemies. 

M.  Sweet  master, 
Be  patient  for  your  father's  remembrance, — 


At  the  Court  of  France.  859 

Hardness  ever  of  hardiness  is  mother. 

K.  Mock  not  my  senseless  conjurations,  lords; 
This  earth  shall  have  a  feeling,  and  these  stones 
Prove  armed  soldiers,  ere  her  native  king 
Shall  falter  under  foul  rebellious  arms. 

L.  Fear  not  my  lord,  that  power  that  made  you  king 
Hath  power  to  keep  you  king,  in  spite  of  all. 

Gent.  He  means,  my  lord,  that  we  are  too  remiss, 
Whilst  Alengon,  through  our  security, 
Grows  strong  and  great,  in  substance  and  in  friends. 

"  But  Guise  said  softly,  to  his  majesty  : — 

• 
G.  Comfort  my  liege,  remember  who  you  are. 

K.  I  had  forgot  myself.     Am  I  not  King  ? 
Awake  thou  sluggard  majesty,  thou  sleepest ! 
Is  not  the  king's  name  forty  thousand  names  ? 

G.  King,  be  thy  thoughts  imperious  like  thy  name. 
Is  the  sun  dimm'd,  that  gnats  do  fly  in  it  ? 
The  eagle  suffers  little  birds  to  sing, 
And  is  not  careful  what  they  mean  thereby 
Knowing  that  with  the  shadow  of  his  wings, 
He  can  at  pleasure  stint  their  melody. 
Even  so  mayst  thou. 

K.  I  thank  thee  Guise. 
Striveth  the  Duke  to  be  as  great  as  we  ? 
Greater  he  shall  not  be.     Lo,  when  this  traitor, 
Who  all  this  while  hath  revell'd  in  the  night, 
Shall  see  us  rising  in  our  throne,  the  East, 
His  treasons  will  sit  blushing  in  his  face, 
Not  able  to  endure  the  sight  of  day, 
But  self-affrighted,  tremble  at  his  sin. 
Not  all  the  water  in  the  rough  rude  sea 


860  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Can  wash  the  balm  from  an  anointed  king; 
The  breath  of  worldly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord : 
I'll  make't  my  comfort,  as  thou  sayest  my  lord. 

M.  Aye  me,  I  see  the  ruin  of  my  house ! 
The  tiger  now  hath  seiz'd  the  gentle  hind ; 
Insulting  tyranny  begins  to  jut 
Upon  the  innocent  and  aweless  throne 
Of  Navarre's  petty  kingdom. 
O  Heaven,  that  one  might  read  the  book  of  Fate, 
And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times 
Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent- 
(Weary  of  solid  firmness)  melt  itself 
,  Into  the  sea :  and  other  times,  to  see 
The  beachy  girdle  of  the  ocean 
Too  wide  for  Neptune's  hips ;  how  chances  mock, 
And  changes  fill  the  cup  of  alteration 
With  divers  liquors.     'Tis  not  ten  years  gone, 
Since  Henry  and  my  lord  Navarre,  great  friends, 
Did  feast  together ;  and  in  two  years  after, 
Were  they  at  war. 

"  Quoth  Catherine  : — 

Catherine.  I  see  (as  in  a  map)  the  end  of  all. 
Accursed  and  unquiet  wrangling  days, 
How  many  of  them  have  mine  eyes  beheld : 
My  husband  lost  his  life, 
And  often  up  and  down  my  sons  were  tost 
For  me  to  joy,  and  weep,  their  gain  and  loss. 
And  being  seated,  and  domestic  broils 
Clean  overblown,  themselves  the  conquerors, 
Make  war  upon  themselves,  brother  to  brother, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  861 

Blood  to  blood,  self  against  self:  O  preposterous 
And  frantic  outrage,  end  thy  damned  spleen, 
Or  let  me  die,  to  look  on  earth  no  more. 

G.  Welcome  destruction,  blood,  and  massacre ! 
Many  a  year  these  furious  broils  let  last. 
Why  should  we  wish  the  gods  should  ever  end  them  ? 
War  only  gives  us  fear.     O  France,  continue 
The  course  of  mischief  and  stretch  out' the  date 
Of  slaughter :  only  civil  broils  make  peace. 
Sword-girt  Orion's  side  glisters  too  bright; 
War's  rage  draws  near  and  to  the  sword's  strong  hand 
Let  all  laws  yield. 

"  The  King  seem'd  not  to  hear,  and  said  ; — 

K.  Thus  stands  my  state,  betwixt  these  two  distress'd, 
Like  to  a  ship,  that  having  scap'd  a  tempest, 
Is  straightway  calm,  and  boarded  with  a  pirate. 
But  now  the  Duke's  driv'n  back,  his  men  dispers'd, 
And  now  Navarre's  in  arms  to  second  him. 
Certain  'tis  not  a  thing  to  rejoice  at, 
Yet  it  affrights  me  not.     Let  them  approach  : 
Our  abbeys  and  our  priories  shall  pay 
This  expedition's  charge,  and  yet,  my  lords, 
For  that  our  kingdom's  earth  should  not  be  soil'd 
With  that  dear  blood  which  it  hath  fostered, 
And  for  our  eyes  do  hate  the  dire  aspect 
Of  civil  wounds  plough'd  up  with  neighbor's  swords, 
I  pray  thee  Duke  of  Guise,  go  and  meet  him, 
And  ask  him  what's  the  reason  of  these  arms. 
Tell  him  I'll  send  his  marshals  to  the  Tower, 
Until  his  army  be  dismiss'cT  from  him. 

G.  I  will  my  lord,  and  doubt  not  so  to  deal, 


862  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

As  all  things  shall  redound  unto  your  good. 

K.  We  love  our  people  well ;  even  those  we  love 
That  are  misled  upon  your  cousin's  part ; 
And  will  they  take  the  offer  of  our  grace, 
Both  he,  and  they,  and  you,  yea,  every  man 
Shall  be  my  friend  again,  and  I'll  be  his. 
So  tell  your  cousin,  and  bring  me  word 
What  he  will  do.    'But  if  he  will  not  yield, 
Rebuke  and  dread  correction  wait  on  us, 
And  they  shall  do  their  office.     So  begone. 
We  will  not  now  be  troubled  with  reply ; 
We  offer  fair,  take  it  advisedly. 

L.  It  will  not  be  accepted,  on  my  life ; 
The  Duke  and  the  King  Navarre  both  together, 
Are  confident  against  the  world  in  arms. 
'Tis  very  like  his  hand  has  writ  no  more 
Than  his  stout  heart  allows  and  will  perform, 
And  all  the  number  of  his  fair  demands, 
Shall  be  accomplish'd  without  contradiction. 
The  noble  Duke  hath  been  too  much  abus'd, 
It  stands  upon  your  grace,  to  do  him  right. 

K.  Base  men  by  his  endowments  are  made  great. 

"  Then  said  the  Guise  : — 

G.  My  lords  of  France,  pray  let  me  tell  you  this ; 
I  have  had  a  feeling  of  my  cousin's  wrongs, 
But  in  this  kind  to  come  in  braving  arms, 
Be  his  own  carver,  and  cut  out  his  way, 
To  find  out  right  with  wrongs,  it  may  not  be ; 
And  you  that  do  abet  him  in  this  kind, 
Cherish  rebellion,  and  are  rebels  all. 

L.  Equality  of  two  domestic  powers 


At  the  Court  of  France.  863 

Breeds  scrupulous  faction :    the  hated  grown  to  strength 
Are  newly  grown  to  love :    th'  condemned  Navarre 
Rich  in  his  father's  honor,  creeps  apace 
Into  the  hearts  of  such  as  have  not  thriv'd 
Upon  the  present  state,  whose  numbers  threaten, 
And  quietness  grown  sick  of  rest,  would  purge 
By  any  desperate  change  in  government. 
And  whither  fly  the  gnats,  but  to  the  sun  ? 
And  who  shines  now  but  Henry's  enemies  ? 

0  Phoebus  !  hadst  thou  never  given  consent, 
That  Phaeton  shonld  check  thy  fiery  steeds, 
Thy  burning  car  never  had  scorch'd  the  earth. 
And  Henry,  hadst  thou  sway'd  as  king  should  do, 
Or  as  thy  father,  and  his  father  did, 

Giving  no  ground  unto  the  Huguenots, 
They  never  then  had  sprung  like  summer  flies : 
Aye,  and  ten  thousand  in  this  luckless  realm, 
Had  left  no  mourning  widows  for  our  death, 
And  thou,  this  day,  hadst  kept  thy  chair  in  peace. 

G.  It  is  not  for  the  Huguenots  he  fights, — 
The  noble  Duke  hath  sworn  his  coming  is 
But  for  his  own ;  and  Navarre  aideth  him. 

K.  Navarre's  a  man.     I  lov'd  him  as  my  brother ; 

1  would  it  had  been  so  that  he  had  been 

My  father's  son,  then  had  my  prize  beeji  less, 
And  so  more  equal  ballasting  to  them. 
But  Francis- is  a  boy,  and  false  as  fair, — 
As  false  to  thee,  fair  sister,  as  to  me. 
His  mind  is  all  as  youthful  as  his  blood ; 
His  haughty  spirit,  winged  with  desire, 
Begins  a  quarrel  that  will  cost  my  crown, 
And  much  concerns  you  too,  dear  Margaret. 


864  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

"  Then  Margaret  made  answer  unto  him  : — 

M.  Dear  brother,  I  protest  in  sight  of  heaven, 
You  are  deceiv'd,  for  though  our  brother  hates  you, 
He  loves  me,  on  my  life,  and  holds  me  dear. 
When  that  our  princely  father  bless'd  his  sons 
With  his  victorious  arm,  he  little  thought 
Of  this  divided  friendship.     O  my  liege, 
The  obligation  of  your  blood  forbids 
A  gory  emulation  'twixt  you  twain. 
Dear  brother,  think  on  this, — relent. 

"  Her  words  were  lost  in  floods  of  crystal  tears. 
O  she  that,  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her.     When  liver,  brain,  and  heart, 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied  and  fill'd 
Her  sweet  perfections  with  one  self  king  : 
Away  before  me,  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers, 
Love  thoughts  lie  rich,  when  canopied  with  bowers. 

K.  Alack !  when  we  were  boys,  we  were,  fair  Queen, 
Two  lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind, 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow,  as  to-day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal.     In  those  unfledg'd  days, 
There  fixe*d  was  no  borne  'twixt  his  and  mine. 

M.  Was  not  my  lord  the  verier  wag  o'  th'  two  ? 

K.  He  was,  i'  faith,  yet  were  it  true  to  say 
This  boy  were  like  me ;  we  were  as  twinn'd  lambs, 
That  did  frisk  i'  th'  sun,  and  bleat  the  one  at  th'  other : 
Temptations  have  since  then  been  borne  to  us—- 
My last  good  deed  was  to  entreat  his  stay. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  865 

M.  Then  for  the  strength  and  safety  of  our  country, 
Let  former  grudges  pass ;  forgive  them  both, 
And  replant  Henry  in  his  former  state. 
Renowned  King,  how  shall  poor  Henry  live, 
Unless  thou  rescue  him  from  foul  despair? 
In  any  case  be  not  too  rough  in  terms, 
For  he  is  fierce  and  cannot  brook  hard  language. 

K.  You  better  play  the  orator  than  I, 
But  I  have  reasons  strong  and  forcible. 
Yet  hark  you,  lords,  and  witness  what  I  say; 
Sister,  these  words  have  turn'd  my  hate  to  love, 
And  I  forgive  and  quite  forget  old  faults. 

M.  I  joy  that  thou  beconVst  King  Henry's  friend. 

"  Lorraine,  the  cardinal,  mutter'd  to  himself : — 

Z.  So  much  fyis  friend,  aye,  his  unfeigned  friend, 
That,  if  Philip  vouchsafe  to  furnish  us 
With  some  few  bands  of  chosen  soldiers, 
I'll  undertake  to  land  them  on  our  coast, 
To  force  the  tyrant  from  his  seat  by  war. 

"  O  King,  attend  !  This  holy  fox,  or  wolf,  or  both, 
Is  equal  ravenous  as  he  is  subtile, 
And  as  prone  to  mischief,  as  able  to  perform  't. 

M.  Dear  brother,  how  shall  Margaret  be  reveng'd, 
But  by  thy  help  to  Henry's  distress'd  queen  ? 
My  quarrel  and  the  mother-queen's  are  one. 

G.  And  mine,  fair  Lady  Margaret,  joins  with  yours. 

L.  And  mine  with  her's,  and  thine,  and  Margaret's. 

"  The  King  did  muse  and  presently  he  said  : — 
K.  Not  that  I  pity  Henry's  misery, 


866  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

But  seek  revenge  on  Francis'  mockery. 
Therefore  at  last  I  firmly  am  resolv'd 
You  shall  have  aid,  my  gentle  Margaret. 
I'll  write  unto  him  and  entreat  them  fair. 

M.  Let  me  give  humble  thanks  for  all  at  once, 
And  let  the  messenger  return  in  post. 

K.  Aye,  let  him  go  as  speedy  as  he  may. 

Exit  Margaret. 

"  But  when  occasion  serves,  this  noble  queen 
Doth  follow  me  and  bid  me  sweet  farewell. 
Quoth  she : — 

M.  But  answer  me  ere  thou  dost  go, 
What  pledge  have  we  of  thy  firm  loyalty  ? 

"  Her  looks  doth  argue  her  replete  with  modesty, 
Her  words  doth  show  her  wit  incomparable, 
All  her  perfections  challenge  sovereignty. 
One  way,  or  other,*  she  is  for  a  king, 
And  a  king  only.     I  answer'd  her  : — 

F.  B.  I  give  my  hand  to  pledge  my  sacred  vow 
To  one  who  well  deserves  it,  gracious  Queen, 
And  with  my  hand  my  faith  irrevocable. 

M.  Forbear  this  talk,  dear  Prince,  here  comes  the  King ! 
But  tell  Navarre  you  bring  word  from  his  Queen 
That  I'll  not  part  with  him — I'll  be  a  soldier ; 
Tell  him  my  mourning  weeds  are  laid  aside. 
And  I  am  ready  to  put  armour  on. 

"  Belike  she  minds  to  play  the  Amazon, 
Never  a  fairer  did  a  helmet  wear. 

M.  I'll  to  the  wars.     Good  Francis  say  that  I 


At  the  Cour^  of  France.  867 

Shall  in  your  conduct  follow  speedily 

Were  I  a  man,  a  duke,  and  next  of  blood, 

I  would  remove  these  tedious  stumbling  blocks, 

And  smooth  my  way  upon  their  headless  necks. 

And  being  a  woman,  I  will  not  be  slack 

To  play  my  part  in  Fortune's  pageant. 

Once  more  adieu ;  be  valiant,  and  speed  well ! 


K.  Now  gentlemen,  say  plainly  what  you  think. 
My  Lord  of  Lorraine,  wiirt  please  you  draw  near? 
What  counsel,  lords? 

First  Lord.  Conde  from  Belgia, 
With  hasty  Germans,  and  blunt  Hollanders, 
Hath  pass'd  in  safety  and  doth  march  amain 
To  join  the  Duke,  and  this  worthy  Navarre, 
And  many  giddy  people  flock  to  him. 
Let's  levy  men,  and  beat  him  back  again ; 
A  little  fire  is  quickly  trodden  out, 
Which  being  suffer'd,  rivers  cannot  quench. 

K.  Ha!  that  we  will.     Go  messenger, 
And  tell  false  Henry,  thy  supposed  King, 
That  I  am  sending  maskers  unto  him 
To  revel  it  With  him,  and  his  fair  friends. 
Thou  see'st  what's  past,  go  fear  thy  King  withal : 
There's  thy  reward,  begone.     Lorraine,  withdraw : 
Bacon  and  I  must  have  some  private  conference, 
But  be  thou  near  at  hand,  for  we  shall  presently 
Have  need  of  thee.     Lords,  give  us  leave. 

"  Immediate  on  the  portal's  close,  the  King  did  say 

K.  Come,  boy,  thou  too  shalt  be  a  messenger, 
Come,  come,  away !  take  thou  my  fleetest  horse, — 


868  Sir  Francis  ^Bacon's  Life 

One  that  will  bear  thee  like  a  thunder-bolt. 

I  know  thy  quality,  my  boy,  thou'rt  brave ; 

Thou  dost  thy  office  fairly.     Turn  thee  back, 

And  tell  Navarre  I  do  not  seek  him  now, 

But  could  be  willing  to  march  unto  Tours, 

Without  impeachment.     Tell  him  thus  says  Henry  : — . . 

1  Though  we  seem'd  dead  we  did  but  sleep,  my  lord, 

And  'twas  the  sleep  too  of  the  wary  lion.' 

But  bid  the  Duke,  our  brother,  his  good  pleasure  use. 

Tell  him  no  choler  hath  the  King  surpris'd. 

But  let  him,  if  he  dare,  our  conquering  passage 

Repulse.     Tell  him,  in  answer  of  his  claim,  the  King 

Says  that  he  savors  too  much  of  his  youth, 

And  bids  him  be  advis'd  there's  nought  in  France 

That  can  be  with  a  nimble  galliard  won ; 

One  cannot  revel  into  dukedoms  here. 

Tell  him,  he  does  but  dream  on  sovereignty, 

Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory, 

And  spies  a  far-off  shore,  where  he  would  tread, 

Wishing  his  foot  were  equal  with  his  eye, 

And  chides  the  sea,  that  sunders  him  from  thence, 

Saying, — he'll  lade  it  dry,  to  have  his  way : 

So  doth  he  wish  the  crown,  being  so  far  off, 

And  so  he  chides  the  means  that  keeps  him  from  it, 

And  so  (he  says)  he'll  cut  the  causes  off, 

Flatt'ring  himself  with  impossibilities. 

His  eye's  too  quick,  his  heart  o'erweens  too  much, 

Unless  his  hand  and  strength  could  equal  them : 

Our  strong  possession,  and  our  right  for  us ; 

I  am  his  king,  and  he  should  bow  his  knee. 

"  When  I  this  message  afterward  deliver'd 
This  was  the  answer  Anjou  made  to  me  : — 


At  the  Court  of  France.  869 

Duke  Anjou.  His  strong  possession  much  more  than 

his  right ; 

Well,  say  there  is  no  kingdom  then  for  Francis ; 
What  other  pleasure  can  the  world  afford? 
I'll  make  my  heaven,  to  dream  upon  the  crown, 
And  whiles  I  live,  t'  account  this  world  but  hell, 
Until  that  this  aspiring  head  of  mine, 
Be  round  impaled  with  a  glorious  crown. 
And  yet  I  know  not  how  to  get  the  crown, 
For  many  lives  stand  between  me  and  home. 
I'll  draw  my  sword  in  right,  and  by  his  kingly  leave, 
Til  draw  it  as  apparent  to  the  crown, 
And  in  that  quarrel,  use  it  to  the  death, — 
For  if  the  Almighty  take  my  brother  hence, 
By  due  descent  the  regal  seat  is  mine. 

"  I  cannot  speak,  for  scarce  I  can  refrain 
The  execution  of  my  big  swolne  heart ; 
For  this,  my  quenchless  thirst,  whereon  I  build, 
Hath  often  pleaded  kindred  to  the  Queen. 
For  this,  this  head,  this  heart,  this  hand,  this  sword, 
Contrives,  imagines,  and  fully  executes 
Matters  of  import  aimed  at  by  many. 

N.  Why  that  is  spoken  like  a  toward  prince ; 
Yet  we  are  fighting  battles  for  the  faith, 
Let  us  to  this  great  cause  then  rest  but  true. 


"Unto  his  Majesty  I  made  reply  : — 

F.  B.  With  all  the  speed  can  possibly  be  us'd 
I  shall  deliver  so,  thanks  to  your  Highness. 
I'll  drink  the  air  before  me,  and  return 
Or  e'er  your  pulse  twice  beat. 


870  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

K.  Ha !  that  would  be  swifter  than  thought. 
'Tis  your  bold  spirit  speaks  in  that,  my  boy, 
And  doth  forget  the  flesh. 

F.  B.  Aye,  that  is  true,  but  you  forget  my  steed. 
Cusay  will  fly  about  the  King's  desire — 
Cusay,  the  prince  of  palfreys,  proud  Cusay — 
Le  cheval  volant,  the  Pegasus,  qui  a 
Les  narines  defeu!  ca  ha!     When  I  bestride  him, 
I  soar,  I  am  a  hawk ;  he  trots  the  air ; 
The  earth  sings  when  he  touches  it :  the  basest  horn 
O'  his  hoofs  more  musical  than  the  pipe  of  Hermes. 
'  Tis  the  best  horse  of  Europe — 'tis  a  beast 
For  Perseus :  he  is  pure  air  and  fire  : 
His  neigh  is  like  the  bidding  of  a  monarch, 
And  his  countenance  enforces  homage. 

K.  Indeed,  it  is  a  most  excellent  horse. 
Now  forth,  and  quickly  bring  us  word.     Adieu. 

F.  B.  Adieu,  your  Majesty ;  but  on  the  morrow, 
E'er  it  draweth  toward  night,  look  you  to  see 
Your  herald's  swift  return. 

K.  'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  thee  so, 
But  thou'lt  be  welcome,  nimble-footed  madcap. 
Before,  I  lov'd  thee  as  a  brother,  Francis, 
But  now,  I  do  respect  thee  as  my  soul. 
Thou  dost  lend  mettle  to  us  all,  brave  boy ; 
Aye  yes,  in  faith,  thou  bear'st  thee  like  a  king, 
Thy  body  doth  contain  a  kingly  spirit. 

F.  B.  A  kingdom  'tis,  with  far  too  small  a  bound. 

K.  But  conquering  thyself,  thou  get'st  the  richest 

spoil, 
And  better  conquest  never  canst  thou  make. 

F.  B.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  great  good  will, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  871 

But  specially  I  thank  thee,  that  thou  choosest  me 
To  be  thy  messenger  to  the  Duke,  thy  brother. 

K.  It  seemeth  me  thou'rt  fittest  to  the  task. 

F.  B.  An  easy  task  it  is,  for  willingly 
I  do  it,  Sovereign.     Please  you  to  dismiss  me. 

"  Then  I  take  leave  and  on  my  way  do  speed — 
Youth  cannot  brook  delay — mounted  on  smoking 

steed ; 

My  turn  it  is  to  flee,  and  long  I  ride. 
The  weary  sun  hath  made  a  golden  set, 
And  by  the  bright  tract  of  his  fiery  car 
Gives  token  of  a  goodly  day  to-morrow. 
The  silent  hours  steal  on,  and  flaky  darkness 
Breaketh  within  the  east,  ere  that  I  join  my  friends. 
Afar  I  see  the  camp,  and  brave  Navarre, 
Where  with  his  men  he  pitcheth  down  his  tents ; 
White  is  their  hue  and  on  his  silver  crest, 
A  snowy  feather  spangled  white  he  bears 
To  signify  the  mildness  of  his  mind. 
I  find  he  hath  five  thousand  armed  horse, 
And  seventeen  thousand  men  that  serve  on  foot ; 
Three  thousand  pioneers,  and  a  thousand  coachmen  ; 
Besides  a  number,  almost  numberless, 
Of  horse-boys,  laundresses  and  courtesans, 
And  fifteen  hundred  wagons  full  of  stuff 
For  noblemen  brought  up  in  luxury. 
His  quick  eye  from  afar  sees  my  approach, 

And  he  among  them  all  is  first  to  greet  me. 
/ 

N.  Welcome,  thou  foolish  boy ;  dar'st  thou  endanger 
Thyself  to  travel  here  at  such  a  time  ? 
Thou'rt  brave ;  good  angels  ever  guard  thee,  Francis; 
What  news  from  th'  court  ?  how  fares  sweet  Margaret  ? 


872  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Hast  thou  a  message  for  me  from  my  perjur'd  Queen? 
And  what  saith  Henry? 

"  I  haste  to  give  the  letters  and  the  messages  ; 
Navarre  soon  speaks  : — 

N.  The  King  is  levying  powers;    we  must  straight 

make  head : 

Therefore  let  our  alliance  be  combin'd, 
Our  best  friends  made,  our  means  stretcht, 
And  let  us  presently  go  sit  in  council, 
How  covert  matters  may  be  best  disclos'd 
And  open  perils  surest  answered. 

Duke  Aniou.  Let  us  do  so,  for  we  are  at  the  stake, 
And  bay'd  about  with  many  enemies  : 
And  some  that  smile  have  in  their  hearts,  I  fear, 
Millions  of  mischiefs. 

"  Here  a  messenger 
Enter'd  in  haste  and  said  unto  Navarre : — 

Messenger.  My  lord,  your    nobles,  jealous  of   your 

absence, 
Seek  through  your  camp  to  find  you. 

N.  Good  old  knight,  collect  them  all  together 
At  my  tent :  I'll  be  before  thee.     Brothers  both, 
Commend  me  to  the  princes  in  our  camp, 
Do  my  good  morrow  to  them,  and  anon 
Desire  them  all  to  my  pavilion. 

Both.  We  shall,  my  liege. 

N.  Fellows  in  arms,  and  my  most  loving  friends. 
My  heart  is  ten  times  lighter  than  my  looks. 
No  frolic  vain,  and  no  presumptuous  mind 


At  the  Court  of  France.  873 

Did  make  us,  princes,  take  these  wars  in  hand  : 
And  now,  'tis  true  that  we  are  in  great  danger, 
The  greater,  therefore,  should  our  courage  be. 
By  how  much  unexpected,  by  so  much 
We  must  awake  endeavor  for  defence, 
For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion. 

A.  There  is  no  quailing  now,  because  the  King 
Is  certainly  possess'd  of  all  our  purposes. 

N.  If  then  our  enemy  will  balk  our  force 
Let  him  draw  near.     In  faith,  what  service  now 
Does  he  command  ?     What  men  hath  he, 
Which  for  their  valiant  prowess  erst  were  dreaded  ? 
Think  you,  brave  sirs,  that  we  have  need  to  fear  ? 
View  well  my  camp  and  speak  indifferently : 
Do  not  my  captains  and  my  soldiers  look 
As  if  they  meant  to  conquer  everywhere  ? 
Our  friends  from  far  will  send  unto  our  aid 
A  hundred  thousand  horse  train'd  to  the  war, 
Back'd  by  stout  lanciers  of  Germany, 
The  strength  and  sinews  of  the  imperial  seat. 
The  things  that  threaten'd  me,  ne'er  look'd  but  on  my  back ; 
When  they  shall  see  my  face,  they're  vanished, 
And  fearless  therefore  will  I  meet  the  foe. 
Ten  thousand  soldiers  with  me  I  will  take, 
Whose  bloody  deeds  shall  make  all  Europe  quake. 

Lord.  A  braver  soldier  never  couched  lance, 
A  gentler  heart  did  never  sway  in  court. 
But,  brave  Navarre,  you  fight  not  France  alone. 
Spain  is  the  council-chamber  of  the  Pope : 
Spain  is  the  place  where  he  makes  peace  and  war, 
And  Guise,  for  Spain,  hath  now  incens'd  the  King 
To  send  his  power  to  meet  us  in  the  field : 


874  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  war  and  weapons  now,  and  blood  and  death, 
Wait  on  the  counsels  of  this  cursed  man. 
It  is  the  Guise  that  hath  incens'd  the  King 
To  levy  arms  and  make  these  civil  broils. 

N.  Tush,  they  are  full  of  brags  I  tell  you,  sir, 
And  menace  more  than  they  can  well  perform. 
We  will  revenge  the  blood  of  innocents, 
That  Guise  hath  slain  by  treason  of  his  heart, 
And  brought  by  murder  to  their  timeless  ends. 
Look  on  thy  country,  look  on  fertile  France, 
And  see  the  cities  and  the  towns  defac'd 
By  wasting  ruin  of  the  cruel  foe. 

F.  J?.  A  mighty  army  comes  from  him  with  speed, 
Which  are  already  muster'd  in  the  land, 
And  mean  to  meet  your  Highness  in  the  field. 

N'.  In  God's  name  let  them  come,  I  fear  them  not. 
But  canst  thou  tell  who  is  their  general  ? 

F.  B.  Not  yet,  my  lord,  for  thereon  do  they  stay. 

A.  Who  is  it  like  should  lead  his  forces  hither  ? 

F.  B.  The  Guise,  methinks,  but  I've  no  certain  notice. 

N.  Dismay  not,  princes,  at  this  accident, 
Nor  grieve  that  Roan  is  so  recovered : 
Care  is  no  cure,  but  rather  corrosive, 
For  things  that  are  not  to  be  remedied. 
This  might  have  been  prevented  and  made  whole 
With  very  easy  arguments  of  love, 
Which  now  the  manage  of  two  kingdoms  must 
With  bloody  swords  decide  as  Heaven  wills. 

A.  The  question  then,  Prince  Henry,  standeth  thus : 
Whether  our  present  five  and  twenty  thousand 
May  hold  up  head,  without  Prince  Conde  here. 

N.  With  him  we  may. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  875 

A.  I  marry,  there's  the  point : 
But  if  without  him  we  be  thought  too  feeble, 
My  judgment  is,  we  should  not  step  too  far 
Till  we  had  his  assistance  by  the  hand. 
For  in  a  theme  so  bloody-fac'd  as  this, 
Conjecture,  expectation,  and  surmise 
Of  aids  incertain,  should  not  be  admitted. 

Officer.  I  wonder  much, 
Being  men  of  such  great  leading  as  you  are, 
That  you  foresee  not  what  impediments 
Drag  back  our  expedition.     Certain  horse 
Of  Montmorenci  are  not  yet  come  up ; 
Your  uncle's  body  of  horse  came  but  to-day, 
And  now  their  pride  and  mettle  is  asleep, 
Their  courage  with  hard  labor  tame  and  dull, 
That  not  a  horse  is  half  the  half  of  himself. 

JV.  So  are  the  horses  of  the  enemy 
In  general  journey  bated,  and  brought  low : 
The  better  part  of  ours  are  full  of  rest. 

Damville.  In  cases  of  defence,  'tis  best  to  weigh 
The  enemy  more  mighty  than  he 'seems, 
So  the  proportions  of  defence  are  fill'd : 
Which  of  a  weak  and  niggardly  projection. 
Doth  like  a  miser  spoil  his  coat  with  scanting 
A  little  cloth. 

IV.  But  by  your  leave,  it  never  yet  did  hurt 
To  lay  down  likelihoods  and  forms  of  hope ; 
And  lords,  wise  men  ne'er,  wail  their  present  woes, 
But  presently  prevent  the  ways  to  wail : 
To  fear  the  foe,  since  fear  opresseth  strength, 
Gives  in  your  weakness,  strength  unto  your  foe ; 
Fear,  and  be  slain,  no  worse  can  come  to  fight, 


876  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  fight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  death, 
Where  fearing,  dying,  pays  death's  servile  breath. 
In  God's  name  cheerly  on,  courageous  friends, 
To  reap  the  harvest  of  perpetual  peace, 
By  this  one  bloody  trial  of  sharp  war. 

D.  Stay  we  no  longer,  dreaming  of  renown, 
But  sound  the  trumpets  and  about  our  task. 
Then  Henry,  were  thy  heart  as  hard  as  steel, 
As  thou  hast  shown  it  flinty  by  thy  deeds, 
I  come  to  pierce  it,  or  to  give  thee  mine. 

N.  Every  man's  conscience  is  a  thousand  men, 
To  fight  against  this  guilty  homicide. 
I  doubt  not  but  his  friends  will  turn  to  us. 

A.  He  hath  no  friends,  but  what  are  friends  for  fear 
Which  in  his  dearest  need  will  fly  from  him. 

N.  All  for  our  vantage,  then  in  God's  name  march. 
True  hope  is  swift,  and  flies  with  swallow's  wings, 
Kings  it  makes  gods,  and  meaner  creatures,  kings. 
Let  frantic  Henry  triumph  for  awhile, 
And  like  a  peacock  sweep  along  his  tail ; 
We'll  pull  his  plumes,  and  take  away  his  train, 
If  Anjou  and  the  rest  will  be  but  rul'd. 

D.  We  have  been  guided  by  thee,  hitherto, 
And  of  thy  cunning  had  no  diffidence. 

Second  Lord.  Search  out  thy  wit  for  secret  policies, 
And  we  will  make  thee  famous  through  the  world. 

C.  M.  A  stouter  champion  never  handled  sword. 
Long  since  we  were  resolved  of  thy  truth, 
Thy  faithful  service  and  thy  toil  in  war : 
Yet  never  have  you  tasted  our  reward, 
Or  been  reguerdon'd  with  so  much  as  thanks. 

N.  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  and  feel  your  worth. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  877 

I  wish  I  could  be  made  so  many  men, 
And  all  of  you  clapt  up  together  in 
A  Bourbon,  that  I  might  do  you  service, 
So  good  as  you  have  done. 

D.  Too  modest  are  you  : 
More  cruel  to  your  good  report,  than  grateful 
To  us,  that  give  you  truly :  be  it  known 
As  to  us,  to  all  the  world,  that  Prince  Navarre 
Wears  this  war's  garland :  in  token  of  the  which, 
My  noble  steed,  known  to  the  camp,  I  give  him, 
With  all  his  trim  belonging ;  and  from  this  time, 
For  what  he  did  before  Orleans,  call  him, 
With  all  th'  applause  and  clamor  of  the  host 
Our  king  of  kings  and  noble  man  of  men. 

N.  No  more  of  this,  it  does  offend  my  heart, 
But  list  to  me,  I  have  a  thing  to  say : 
Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Have  we  march'd  on  without  impediment, 
And  here  receive  we,  from  sweet  Margaret, 
Lines  of  fair  comfort  and  encouragement. 
We  may  depend  on  her,  for  what  she  can 
She  will  do  for  her  lord ;  but  what  she  would 
She  cannot.     And  in  truth  she'll  hither  come 
Into  our  presence ;  Bacon  will  attend  her : 
This  heaven  of  beauty  shall  shine  at  full  upon  us. 

F.  L.  Is  it  even  so  ?  nay,  then  I  see  our  wars 
Will  turn  into  a  peaceful  comic  sport, 
When  ladies  crave  to  be  encounter'd  with. 
You  may  not  (my  lord) despise  her  gentle  suit. 

N.  Ne'er  trust  me  then :  for  when  a  world  of  men 
Could  not  prevail  with  all  their  oratory, 
Yet  hath  a  woman's  kindness  over-rul'd. 


878  Sir  Francis  Bacoris  Life 

Her  state  and  person  want  no  pomp  you'll  see, 
And  for  all  blot  of  foul  inchastity, 
I  record  Heaven  her  heavenly  self  is  clear. 
And  here  these  peers,  that  on  my  fortunes  wait 
And  have  been  crown'd  for  proved  worthiness, 
Even  by  this  hand  that  shall  establish  them, 
Shall  now,  adjoining  all  their  hands  with  mine, 
Invest  her  here  my  queen,  as  it  beseems 
A  person  of  her  majesty. 

AIL  We  shall  obey  you  in  all  things,  Navarre. 

N.  The  time  approaches, 
That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  shall  say  we  have,  and  what  we  owe : 
Thoughts  speculative,  their  unsure  hopes  relate, 
But  certain  issue,  strokes  must  arbitrate, 
Toward  which,  advance  the  war.     Have  war,  say  I : 
It  exceeds  peace  as  far  as  day  does  night : 
It's  sprightly  walking,  audible,  and  full  of  vent. 
Peace  is  a  very  apoplexy,  lethargy, 
Mull'd,  deaf,  sleepy,  insensible. 
Let  our  firm  hearts  attend  the  true  event, 
And  put  we  on  industrious  soldiership. 
Hence,  therefore,  every  leader  to  his  charge, 
And  God  befriend  us,  as  our  cause  is  just. 
Now  lords,  take  leave  until  we  meet  again 
Where'er  it  be,  in  heaven  or  in  earth. 
Give  me  your  hands  all  over,  one  by  one. 

A.  And  let  us  swear  our  resolution. 

N.  No,  not  an  oath :  if  not  the  face  of  men 
The  sufferance  of  our  souls,  the  times  abuse ; 
If  these  be  motives  weak,  break  off  betimes, 
And  every  man  hence,  to  his  idle  bed : 


At  the  Court  of  France.  879 

So  let  high-sighted  tyranny  range  on, 

Till  each  man  drop  by  lottery.     But  if  these, 

As  I  am  sure  they  do,  bear  fire  enough 

To  kindle  cowards,  and  to  steel  with  valor 

The  melting  spirits  of  women,  then  countrymen 

What  need  we  any  spur  but  our  own  cause 

To  prick  us  to  redress  ? 

"  Turning  to  me,  he  spake  : — 

N.  Much  have  I  said, 

So  that  from  point  to  point,  now  have  you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war, 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth 
And  more  thirsts  after.     Hear  me  more  plainly  : 
I  have  in  equal  balance  justly  weigh'd 
What  wrongs  our  arms  may  do,  what  wrongs  we  suffer, 
And  find  our  griefs  heavier  than  our  offences. 
When  Charles  was  king  this  tyranny  began. 
When  we  were  wrong'd  and  would  unfold  our  griefs, 
We  were  denied  access  unto  his  person, 
Even  by  those  men,  that  most  had  done  us  wrong. 
The  dangers  of  the  days  but  newly  gone, 
Whose  memory  is  written  on  the  earth 
With  yet  appearing  blood,  and  the  examples 
Of  every  minute's  instance  (present  now) 
Hath  put  us  in  these  ill-beseeming  arms  : 
Not  to  break  peace,  or  any  branch  of  it, 
But  to  establish  here  a  peace  indeed, 
Concurring  both  in  name  and  quality. 

F.  B.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 
Upon  your  Grace's  part :  black  and  fearful 
On  the  Opposer's.     For  'tis  sacrilegious 


880  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

To  do  offence  and  scathe  in  Christendom, 
The  worst  that  e'er  I  heard.     List  to  me,  pray. 
By  all  your  good  leaves,  gentlemen, 
Here  I  will  make  my  royal  choice  to  stay 
And  fight  in  your  behalf,  right  manfully. 
Set  on  your  foot,  and  with  a  heart  new  fir'd 
I'll  follow  you,  to  do  I  know  not  what, 
But  it  sufficeth  that  Navarre  leads  on. 
My  gracious  lord,  I  tender  you  my  service, 
Such  as  it  is,  being  tender,  raw  and  young 
Which  elder  days  shall  ripen,  and  confirm 
To  more  approved  service  and  desert. 

N.  No,  no,  thou  shalt  not  be  so  foolish-hardy, 
So  to  expose  those  tender  limbs  of  thine, 
To  the  event  of  the  none-sparing  war. 

F.  B.  Methinks  I  should  revive  the  soldiers'  hearts 
Because  I  ever  found  them  as  myself. 

N.  Thou  shalt,  brave  Francis,  be  my  messenger; 
Commend  my  duty  to  our  sovereign ; 
Wear  thou  my  chain,  and  carry  this  to  him — 
Thou  hast  the  good  advantage  of  the  night. 

F.  B.  Now  bid  me  run  and  I  will  strive  with  things 
Impossible,  yea,  get  the  better  of  them. 
Command  me  any  service  to  th'  world's  end, 
I  will  go  on  the  slightest  errand  now 
To  the  antipodes  you  can  devise 
To  send  me  on,  or  do  thee  any  service. 

N.  Thy  legs  will  do  thee  better  service  then   thy 

hands, 

And  boy,  a  good  soft  pillow  for  thy  head 
Were  better  than  a  churlish  turf  of  France. 

F.  B.  Not  so  my  liege,  this  lodging  likes  me  better 


At  the  Court  of  France.  881 

Since  I  may  say, — '  Now  lie  I  like  a  king.' 

I  am  more  antique  Roman  than  an  Englishman, 

And  I  prefer  some  hardship  to  much  ease. 

N.  Courageous  Francis,  let  me  now  persuade  you — 
F.  B.  Not  to  be  gone  from  hence,  I  cannot  yield. 
N.  But  now  go  to  thy  rest,  sleep  thou  in  peace 

And  wake  at  morn  in  joy ;  thou  art  o'erwatcht ; 

Good  angels  guard  thee  from  this  war's  annoy. 

"  I  answer  him  at  last : — 

F.  B.  Thanks,  my  good  liege, 
Right  politic  and  good  is  your  advice. 

N.  Go  then  to  see  it  speedily  perform 'd : 
Be  counseled  by  us  in  this  advice. 

F.  B.  A  kind  direction,  I  will  follow  it. 
Once  more  good  night,  kind  lords  and  gentlemen. 

All.  Good  night,  sweet  prince, 
And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest. 

"  And  yet  I  do  not  rest  a  quiet  hour, 
For  my  unquiet  heart  filleth  my  sleep 
With  perturbations  of  the  morrow. 
Now  fiery  stars  and  streaming  comets  blaze, 
That  threat  the  earth  and  princes  of  the  same, 
Presaging,  we  are  told,  the  fall  of  kingdoms, — 
Through  the  long  night  I  watch  the  glowing  skies, 
And  think  what  may  this  turbulence  portend, — 
Strange  sights  appear  :  the  angry  threat'ning  gods 
Fill  both  the  earth  and  sky  with  prodigies  ; 
Great  stores  of  strange  and  unknown  stars  are  seen 
Wand'ring  about  the  north,  and  rings  of  fire 
Fly  in  the  air ;  and  dreadful  bearded  stars, 
And  sundry  fiery  meteors  blaze  in  heaven — 


882  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

* 

Now  spear-like  long,  now  like  a  spreading  torch ; 
Lightning  in  silence  steals  forth  without  clouds, 
And  from  the  northern  climate  snatching  fire, 
Blasts  where  it  smites,  like  thunderbolts  of  Jove. 

I  hear  King  Henry  walk  from  watch  to  watch, 
From  tent  to  tent,  issuing  his  commands ; 
I  rise  betimes  and  join  him  silently, 
Lest  I  disturb  the  workings  of  his  thought. 
Unto  Anjou  he  calls  : — 

N.  Good  morrow,  Duke. 

A.  Cry  mercy,  lords  and  watchful  gentlemen, 
That  you  have  ta'en  a  tardy  sluggard  here. 

N.  How  have  you  slept  my  lord  ? 

A.  The  sweetest  sleep,  and  fairest  boding  dreams, 
That  ever  enter'd  in  a  drowsy  head, 
Have  I  since  your  departure  had,  my  lords. 
Methought  their  souls,  whose  bodies  Guise  hath  murther'd, 
Came  to  my  tent,  and  cried  on  victory : 
I  promise  you  my  heart  is  very  jocund, 
In  the  remembrance  of  so  fair  a  dream. 
How  far  into  the  morning  is  it,  lords  ? 

N.  Upon  the  stroke  of  four.     There  is  no  time 
To  lose.     Send  out  a  pursuivant-at-arms, 
Without  delay  to  Conde's  regiment — 
(His  regiment  lies  half  a  mile  at  least 
South  from  the  mighty  forces  of  the  king) 
Commend  me  to  him :  bid  him  bring  his  power 
Before  sunrising,  lest  his  brave  troops  fall 
Into  the  blind  cave  of  eternal  night. 
He  shall  make  up  the  right  wing  of  the  battle. 
And  you,  my  Duke,  shall  have  in  charge  the  left, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  883 

While  I  myself  will  follow  in  the  midst. 

With  the  first  light  of  day  our  troops  shall  mount 

Up  higher  to  the  plains,  where  we'll  set  forth 

In  best  appointment  all  our  regiments. 

Speed  then  to  take  advantage  of  the  field. 

A.  It  shall  be  so,  and  at  the  other  hill 
Command  the  rest  to  stand.     God  and  our  right. 

N.  And  God  forgive  the  sin  of  all  those  souls 
That  to  their  everlasting  residences, 
Before  the  dew  of  evening  fall,  shall  fleet 
In  dreadful  trial  of  our  kingdom's  king. 

A.  Amen,  amen !  Mount  chevaliers ! — to  arms ! 

N.  Give  me  thy  hand,  Anjou ;  be  thou  my  witness 
That  'gainst  my  will,  I  am  compell'd  to  set 
Upon  one  battle,  all  our  liberties. 
You  know  that  I  held  Montmorenci  strong, 
And  his  opinion  :  now  I  change  my  mind, 
And  partly  credit  things  that  do  presage. 
This  morning  are  the  eagles  fled  away, 
And  in  their  steads,  do  ravens,  crows,  and  kites 
Fly  o'er  our  heads,  and  downward  look  on  us, 
As  we  were  sickly  prey ;  their  shadows  seem 
A  canopy  most  fatal,  under  which 
Our  army  lies,  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 

A.  Believe  not  so. 

N.  I  but  believe  it  partly, 
For  I  am  fresh  of  spirit  and  resolv'd 
To  meet  all  perils,  very  constantly. 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear, 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 
Will  come  when  it  will  come.     But  now  away : 
Hie  to  thy  charge.     Cheer  thou  these  noble  lords, 


884  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  hearten  those  that  fight  in  thy  defence. 

A.  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 

N.  Most  surely  will  the  vengeance  of  the  Highest, 
And  jealous  anger  of  His  fearful  arm, 
Be  pour'd  with  rigor  on  our  sinful  heads, 
If  we  neglect  this  offer'd  victory. 

Exit  Anjou. 

"  A  drum  afar  off  broke  upon  our  ears. 

N.  Hark,  hark !  the  enemy's  drum  a  warning  bell 
Sings  heavy  music  to  the  timorous  soul ; 
It  is  too  late,  I  cannot  now  send  forth 
To  warn  Prince  Cond£  of  the  foe's  approach. 

D.  Let  not  your  private  discord,  keep  away 
The  levied  succours  that  should  lend  him  aid, 
While  he,  renowned  noble  gentlemen, 
Yield  up  his  life  unto  a  world  of  odds. 
All  the  King's  forces  compass  him  about, 
And  Cond£  perisheth  by  your  default. 

N.  Alenyon  set  him  on,  and  should  have  sent  him  aid. 

Off.  And  he  as  fast  upon  your  Grace  exclaims, 
Swearing  that  you  withhold  his  levied  host 
Collected  for  this  expedition. 

N.  He  lies !  He  might  have  sent  and  had  the  horse : 
I  owe  him  little  duty  and  less  love, 
And  take  foul  scorn  to  fawn  on  him  by  sending, — 
And  yet  pride  has  no  place  in  hour  of  danger. 
Bid  him  come  hither,  I'll  await  him  here. 
O  where  hath  our  intelligence  been  drunk, 
Where  hath  it  slept  ? 

"  I  join'd  the  Duke,  who  with  a  gentleman 
Enter'd  his  tent  before  the  messenger. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  <ssr> 

Anjou.  Neville! 

Neville.  What  says  Alengon  ? 

A.  I  have  a  young  conception  in  my  brain, 
Be  you  my  time  to  bring  it  to  some  shape. 

Nev.  Whatis't? 

A.  This  'tis : 

Blunt  wedges  rive  hard  knots  :  the  seeded  pride 
That  hath  to  this  maturity  blown  up 
In  rank  Navarre,  must  either  now  be  cropt, 
Or  shedding,  breed  a  nursery  of  like  evil 
To  over-bulk  us  all. 

Nev.  Well,  and  how  ? 

A.  This  challenge  that  the  gallant  Henry  sends, 
However  it  is  spread  in  general  name, 
Relates  in  purpose  only  to  Navarre. 

Nev.  The  purpose  is  perspicuous,  even  as  substance 
Whose  grossness  little  characters  sum  up, 
And  in  the  publication  make  no  strain, 
But  that  Navarre,  e'en  were  his  brain  as  barren 
As  banks  of  Lybia,  though  Apollo  knows, 
'Tis  dry  enough,  will  with  great  speed  of  judgment, 
Aye,  with  celerity,  find  Henry's  purpose 
Pointing  on  him.     What  says  this  messenger? 

Enter  Messenger. 

Messenger.  The  Prince,  Navarre,  would  speak  with  you. 

Exit  Messenger' 


N.  Duke  of  Alengon,  this  was  your  default, 
That  being  captain  of  the  watch  to-night 
Did  look  no  better  to  that  weighty  charge. 

A.  Had  all  your  quarters  been  as  safely  kept 
As  that  of  which  I  had  the  government — 


886  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

N.  Security  is  mortals'  chiefest  enemy. 

A.  You  love  your  enemy. 

N.  My  lord,  mine  was  secure,  and  for  myself 
Most  part  of  all  this  night,  in  mine  own  precinct 
I  was  employ'd  in  passing  to  and  fro 
About,  relieving  of  the  sentinels: 
While  you,  my  lord,  lay  in  your  tent  and  dream'd 
Of  victory  alighting  on  your  banners, 
The  enemy  have  gain'd  the  vantage  ground. 
The  copy  of  your  speed  is  learn'd  by  them, 
For  when  you  should  be  told  they  do  prepare, 
The  tidings  come  that  they  are  all  arriv'd. 

A.  Wherefore  are  you  impatient* with  your  friend? 
At  all  times  will  you  have  my  power  alike  ? 
Sleeping  or  waking  must  I  still  prevail, 
Or  will  you  blame  and  lay  the  fault  on  me  ? 

N.  Tut,  tut,  brave  Duke;  it  irks  my  heart  to  hear 
Words  such  as  these  at  such  a  dangerous  hour. 

A.  A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  you  do  make  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

N.  I  do  not  till  you  practice  them  on  me. 

A.  You  love  me  not! 

N.  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

A.  A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

N.  A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

A.  You  have  riv'd  my  heart  with  your  unpleasing 
answer. 

N.  Leave  off  this  foolish  strife — this  peevish  broil : 
Amongst  the  soldiers  this  is  muttered, 
That  whilst  a  field  should  be  dispatch'd  and  fought 
You  are  disputing  with  your  generals. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  887 

A.  One  would  have  ling'ring  wars  with  little  cost ; 
Another  would  fly  swift  but  wanteth  wings ; 
A  third  doth  think,  without  expense  at  all, 
By  guileful  fair  words  peace  may  be  obtained. 

N.  Now  resteth  naught  but  that  you  do  agree, 
And  so  to  purchase  sure  tranquility, 
Concur  together. 

A.  Thou'rt  ready  with  advice, 
With  too  much  brain  and  with  too  little  blood. 
I  pray  you  let  me  see  you  in  the  field : 
We  have  had  pelting  wars  since  you  refus'd 
The  Huguenots'  cause. 

N.  Stand  fair,  I  prithee,  let  me  look  on  thee. 

A.  Behold  thy  fill. 

N.  Nay,  I  have  done  already. 

A.  Thou  art  too  brief;  I've  fed  mine  eyes  on  thee, 
I  have  with  exact  view  perus'd  thee,  sir, 
And  quoted  joint  by  joint.     I  will  the  second  time, 
As  I  would  buy  thee,  view  thee,  limb  by  limb. 

N.  O,  like  a  book  of  sport  thou'lt  read  me  o'er, 
But  there's  more  in  me  than  thou  understand'st. 
Why  dost  thou  so  oppress  me  with  thine  eye  ? 

A.  Tell  me,  you  Heavens,  in  which  part  of  his  body 
Shall  I  destroy  him  ?  whether  there,  or  there,  or  there, 
That  I  may  give  the  local  wound  a  name, 
And  make  distinct  the  very  breach,  where-out 
Navarre's  great  spirit  flew.     Answer  me  Heavens. 

N.  It  would  discredit  the  blest  gods,  proud  man, 
To  answer  such  a  question.     Stand  again ! 
Think'st  thou  to  catch  my  life  so  pleasantly, 
As  to  prenominate  in  nice  conjecture 
Where  thou  wilt  hit  me  dead  ? 


888  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

A.  I  tell  thee,  yea. 

N.  Wert  thou  the  oracle  to  tell  me  so, 
I'd  not  believe  thee :  henceforth  guard  thee  well, 
For  I'll  not  kill  thee  there,  nor  there,  nor  there, 
But  by  the  forge  that  stythied  Mars  his  helm, 
I'll  kill  thee  everywhere,  yea,  o'er  and  o'er. 

A.  So  cowards  fight,  when  they  can  fly  no  further, 
So  doves  do  peck  the  falcon's  piercing  talons, 
So  desperate  thieves,  all  hopeless  of  their  lives, 
Breathe  out  invectives  'gainst  the  officers. 

N~.  O  Duke  Anjou,  bethink  thee  once  again, 
And  in  thy  thought  o'er-run  my  former  time : 
And,  if  thou  canst  for  blushing,,  view  this  face, 
And  bite  thy  tongue  that- slanders  him  with  cowardice, 
Whose  frown  hath  made  thee  faint  and  fly  ere  this. 
You  wisest  compeers,  pardon  me  this  brag; 
His  insolence  draws  folly  from  my  lips, 
But  I'll  endeavor  deeds  to  match  these  words, 
Or  may  I  never — 

F.  Z.  Do  not  chafe  thee,  cousin : 
And  you,  Alengon,  let  these  threats  alone 
Till  accident,  or  purpose  bring  you  to't. 
You  may  have  every  day  enough  o'  Navarre 
If  you  have  stomach.     The  general  state  I  fear, 
Can  scarce  entreat  you  to  be  odd  with  him. 

A.  Nor  shall  it,  Harry,  for  the  hour  is  come 
To  end  the  one  of  us :  and  would  to  Heaven, 
Thy  name  in  arms,  were  now  as  great  as  mine. 

N.  I'll  make  it  greater  ere  I  part  from  thee, 
And  all  the  budding  honours  on  thy  crest 
I'll  crop,  to  make  a  garland  for  my  head. 

A.  I  can  no  longer  brook  thy  vanities. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  889 

N.  I  will  not  bandy  with  thee  word  for  word, 
But  buckler  thee  with  blows  twice  two  for  one. 
Let  it  be  seen  tomorrow  in  the  battle, 
Which  of  us  fears. 

A.  Yea,  or  tonight. 

N.  Content. 

A.  Tonight,  say  I. 

F.  L.  Come,  come,  it  may  not  be. 

N.  To-morrow  do  I  meet  thee  fell  as  death, — 
To-night,  all  friends. 

A.  Thy  hand  upon  that  match. 

N.  Go  to  my  tent,  Anjou,  enlarge  your  griefs, 
And  I  will  give  you  audience.     Officer, 
Bid  our  commanders  lead  their  charges  off 
A  little  from  this  ground,  and  let  no  man 
Come  to  our  tent,  till  we  have  done  our  conference. 
Saddle  white  Surrey  for  the  field  to-morrow : 
Look  that  my  staves  be  sound  and  not  too  heavy. 
Use  careful  watch ;  choose  trusty  sentinels ; 
Let  two  of  our"  best  soldiers  guard  our  door. 

Off.  My  liege,  'tis  done,  and  all  things  are  in  read- 
iness. 

"  I  went  with  them  unto  the  private  tent, 
And  listen'd  to  Alengon's  peevish  plaints  : — 

A.  It  is  not  meet  that  every  nice  offense 
Should  bear  your  comment.     Let  me  tell  you,  sir, 
That  you  yourself  are  much  condemn'd  for  faults. 

N.  Anjou,  remember  that  I  am  your  friend. 

A.    Aye,  but  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late ; 
I  have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness 
And  show  of  love,  as  I  was  wont  to  have : 


890  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand, 
Over  your  friend  that  loves  you. 

N.  Alengon, 

Be  not  deceiv'd  :  if  I  have  veil'd  my  look, 
I  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself.     Vex£d  I  am 
Of  late,  with  passions  of  some  difference, 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself, 
Which  gives  some  soil,  perhaps,  to  my  behaviors : 
But  let  not  therefore  my  good  friends  be  griev'd, 
(Among  which  number,  Francis,  be  you  one,) 
Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect, 
Than  that  poor  Henry,  with  himself  at  war, 
Forgets  the  shows  of  love  for  other  men. 

A.  Then,  Henry,  I  have  much  mistook  your  passion, 
By  means  whereof  this  breast  of  mine  hath  buried 
Thoughts  of  great  value,  worthy  cogitations. 
I  thank  you  for  your  chapter  of  advice, 
I  do  remember  it  and  take  my  leave 
To  go  about  my  preparations. 

N.  Do  so. 

"  And  even  there,  his  eye  being  big  with  tears, 
Turning  his  face,  he  put  his  hand  behind  him, 
And  with  affection  wondrous  sensible, 
He  wrung  Alenyon's  hand,  and  so  they  parted. 
But  ere  the  Duke  pass'd  through  the  tent's  low  door, 
There  came  a  sound  of  voices  from  without, 
Where  an  old  officer  thus  wrangl'd  with  the  guard  : — 

Off.  Let  me  go  in  to  see  the  Generals ; 
There  is  some  grudge  between  'em,  'tis  not  meet 
They  be  alone. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  891 

Guard.  You  shall  not  come  to  them. 
Off.  Nothing  but  death  shall  stay  me ! 

A.  How  now!  what's  the  matter? 

Off.  For  shame,  you  Generals ;  what  do  you  mean  ? 
Love,  and  be  friends,  as  two  such  men  should  be ; 
For  I  have  seen  more  years,  I'm  sure,  than  ye. 

A.  Ha,  ha,  how  vilely  doth  this  cynic  rhyme ! 
Get  you  hence,  sirrah ;  saucy  fellow,  hence ! 

N.  Bear  with  him,  Anjou  ;  'tis  his  fashion. 

A.  I'll  know   his  humor  when  he  knows  his  time. 

"  As  they  stept  forth  together  from  the  tent, 
A  light  caught  Navarre's  eye. 

N.  Look,  look  my  Duke ! 
Are  those  my  tents  where  I  perceive  the  fire  ? 

A.  They  are,  my  lord. 

N".  Alencon,  if  thou  lovest  me, 
Mount  thou  my  horse,  and  hide  thy  spurs  in  him 
Till  he  have  brought  thee  up  to  yonder  troops, 
And  here  again,  that  I  may  rest  assur'd 
Whether  yond  troops  are  friend  or  enemy. 

A.  I  will  be  here  again,  even  with  a  thought. 

"  Bnt  ere  his  swift  return  a  soldier  came  and  said  : — 

Soldier.  My  liege  the  army  of  the  King 
Encamps  upon  these  hills. 

F.  B.  He  fables  not,  I  hear  the  enemy. 

"And  quick  and  sharp   Navarre   gives  the  com- 
mand : — 

N.  Out  some  light  horsemen,  and  peruse  their  wings. 


S92  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Are  not  the  speedy  scouts  return'd  again, 
That  dogg'd  the  mighty  army  of  the  King  ? 

Off.  They  are  return'd,  my  lord,  and  give  it  out, 
That  Guise  is  marching  hither  with  his  power, 
To  fight  with  Conde  as  he  march'd  along. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Prepare  you,  lords,  for  the  Guise  is  at  hand, 
Heady  to  fight :  therefore  be  resolute. 

N~.  I  thought  no  less  :  it  is  his  policy, 
To  haste  thus  fast,  to  find  us  unprovided. 

Off.  But  he's  deceiv'd,  we  are  in  readiness. 

N.  This  cheers  my  heart  to  see  your  forwardness. 

Off.  Here  pitch  our  battle ;  hence  we  will  not  budge. 

N~.  Come  go,  I  will  dispatch  the  horsemen  straight : 
Within  six  hours,  they  will  be  at  his  aid. 
Away  to  meet  him  :  while  we  reason  here 
A  royal  battle  might  be  won  or  lost. 

Second  Mess.  By  your  espials  were  discovered 
Two  mightier  troops  than  that  Duke  of  Guise  led, 
Which  join'd  with  him  and  made  their  march  together. 

N~.  Too  late  comes  rescue,  he  is  ta'en  or  slain, 
For  fly  he  could  not,  if  he  would  have  fled  : 
And  fly  would  Conde  never,  though  he  might. 

"Navarre  then  sadly  mus'd  and  spake  but  half 
aloud : — 

N.  If  he  be  dead,  brave  Conde  then  adieu ; 
That  gallant  spirit  hath  aspir'd  the  clouds, 
Which  too  untimely  here  did  scorn  the  earth : 
His  fame  lives  in  the  world,  his  shame  in  thee,  Anjou. 
O  negligent  and  heedless  discipline ! 
How  are  we  park'd  and  bounded  in  a  pale ! 


At  the  Court  of  France.  SU3 

A  little  herd  of  hunted  timorous  deer, 
Maz'd  with  a  yelping  kennel  of  French  curs ! 
If  we  be  hunted  deer,   be  then  in  blood, — 
Not  rascal-like  to  fall  down  with  a  pinch, 
But  rather  moody  mad, — and,  desperate  stags, 
Turn  on  the  bloody  hounds  with  heads  of  steel, 
And  make  the  cowards  stand  aloof  at  bay : 
Sell  every  man  his  life  as  dear  as  mine, 
And  they  shall  find  dear  deer  of  us  my  friends. 
God  and  St.  Denis,  France  and  Alencpn's  right, 
Prosper  our  colors  in  this  dangerous  fight. 

• 

O  Thou,  whose  captain  I  account,  myself, 
Look  on  my  forces  with  a  gracious  eye : 
Put  in  their  hands  Thy  bruising  irons  of  wrath, 
That  they  may  crush  down  with  a  heavy  fall, 
Th'  usurping  helmets  of  our  adversaries : 
Make  us  Thy  ministers  of  chastisement, 
That  we  may  praise  Thee  in  Thy  victory : 
To  Thee  I  do  commend  my  soul, 
Ere  I  let  fall  the  windows  of  mine  eyes : 
Sleeping,  and  waking,  O  defend  me  still. 
O  God  of  battles,  steel  my  soldiers'  hearts, 
Possess  them  not  with  fear :  take  from  them  now 
The  sense  of  reck'ning  of  th'  opposed  numbers : 
Pluck  their  hearts  from  them.     Not  to-day,  O  Lord, 
O  not  to-day,  think  Thou  upon  the  faults 
That  I  have  made  in  heat  of  youthful  blood, 
But  for  the  grace  and  glory  of  Thy  name, 
O  give  us  victory. 

"  The  day  begins  to  break,  and  night  is  fled, 
Whose  pitchy  mantle  overveiPd  the  earth. 


894  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

I  hear  their  drums  breaking  the  silence  now, 
Like  to  a  dismal  clangor  heard  from  far. 
I  am  my  father's  son,  for  I  had  rather  see 
The  swords  and  hear  a  drum,  than  look  upon 
A  schoolmaster.     I  may  not  be  too  forward 
In  this  matter ;  they've  chid  me  from  the  battle, 
iT    But  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 
And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die. 
I  will  not  budge  a  foot,  I  swear  o'  my  word. 

Enter  Messenger. 

Mess.  Now  brave  commanders,  be  in  readiness ; 
For  with  a  band  of  thirty-thousand  men, 
Two-thousand  argolets  and  ten-thousand  horse, 
Cometh  Dumain,  backing  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
And  in  the  towns  as  they  do  march  along, 
Many  do  fly  to  them. 

A.  They  mean  to  warn  us  here, 
Answering  before  we  do  demand  of  them. 

N.  Tut,  I  am  in  their  bosoms,  and  I  know 
Wherefore  they  do  it :  they  could  be  content 
To  visit  other  places,  and  come  down 
With  fearful  bravery,  thinking  by  this  face 
To  fasten  in  our  thoughts  that  they  have  courage ; 

But  'tis  not  so. 

Enter  Messenger. 
Mess.  Prepare  you,  Generals, — 

The  enemy  comes  on  in  gallant  show ; 
Their  bloody  sign  of  battle  is  hung  out, 
And  something's  to  be  done  immediately. 

"  Darraign  your  battle  for  they  are  at  hand, 
And  here  they  stand  to  answer  thee,  Navarre, 
Or  any  he  the  proudest  of  thy  sort. 
For  God's  sake,  lords,  give  signal  to  the  fight ! 


At  the  Court  of  France.  895 

Captain.  My  liege,  the  wound  that  bred  this  meeting 

here, 
Cannot  be  cur'd  by  words. 

N.  You  said  the  enemy  would  not  come  down, 
But  keep  the  hills  and  upper  regions ; 
It  proves  not  so :  their  battles  are  at  hand, 
And  there,  afar,  I  see  the  royal  troops. 
Now  higher  would  I  rear  my  estimate — 

A.  Why,  their  battalia  trebles  that  account ! 
Besides,  the  King's  name  is  a  tower  of  strength. 

C.  I  hear  them  come, — shall  we  encounter  them  ? 

N.  Keep  all  your  standings  and  stir  not  a  foot ! 
Myself  will  bide  the  danger  of  the  brunt. 
And  here  I  draw  a  sword,  brave  Frenchmen  all, 
Whose  worthy  temper  I  intend  to  stain 
With  the  best  blood  that  I  can  meet  withal, 
In  the  adventure  of  this  perilous  day. 
Now  esperance,  Alenyon,  and  set  on : 
Sound  all  the  lofty  instruments  of  war, 
And  by  that  music,  let  us  all  embrace , 
For  heaven  to  earth,  some  of  us  never  shall 
A  second  time  do  such  a  courtesy. 


"  Onward  they  come  like  angry  waves  at  sea. 
There  sits  Navarre,  like  warrior  cut  in  stone, 
His  courser  trapp'd  in  white,  and  plumes  and  staves 
Of  snowy  hue ;  his  knights  in  fair  array, 
Waiting  their  lord's  good  fortune  in  the  field ; 
His  armour  glitt'ring  like  the  morn's  bright  ray 
His  plumes  and  pendants  all  as  white  as  swan, 
And  spear  in  rest  right  ready  to  perform, 
What  'longs  unto  the  honor  of  the  day. 


896  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Alengon  leads  the  battle  softly  on, 

Upon  the  left  hand  of  the  even  field ; 

Upon  the  right  hand  see  I  Prince  Conde, — 

'  Twas  false  report  that  his  force  was  cut  off, — 

But  he  already  has  had  part  in  battle, 

I  can  well  see  by  his  dissever'd  ranks. 

Here  on  this  mole-hill  will  I  sit  me  down, 

In  heart-grief  and  uneasiness,  and  see 

How  they  come  off,  for  now  the  forces  of  the  foe 

Are  nigh, — some  horsemen  have  already  led  the  way, — 

And  here  I  view  the  field  in  safety.     See, 

The  princes  lead  their  charges  to  the  battle, 

In  proud  array.     But  I  must  find 

An  evident  calamity,  though  I  had 

My  wish  which  side  should  win  in  this  affray : 

That  shall  I  read  at  full  in  my  own  losses 

If  I  do  stay  in  France.     I  cannot  live  here ! 

I  should  be  free,  as  free  as  is  the  wind : 

Here  my  affairs  are  servanted  to  others, — 

I  must  quit  all  and  that  without  delay. 

"  Here  will  I  sit  before  the  walls  of  stone 
And  will  be  partner  of  their  weal  or  woe. 
I  am  boy  to  them  all  three :  but  all  they  three 
Though  they  would  serve  me,  could  not  be  a  man  to  me. 
I'd  rather  be  their  servant  in  my  way, 
Than  sway  with  them  in  their's,  but  in  the  field 
Their  glory  is  not  wanting :    they  are  courtiers, 
Courtiers  as  free,  as  debonaire ;  unarm'd, 
As  bending  angels  :    that's  their  fame  in  peace ; 
But  when  they  would  seem  soldiers,  they  have  galls, 
Good  arms,  strong  joints,  true  swords,  and  Jove's  accord. 
Nothing  so  full  of  heart,  or  so  imperial. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  897 

"  Princes  of  France,  the  sparkling  light  of  Fame, — 
Whose  glory's  brighter  than  the  burnish'd  gates 
From  whence  Latona's  lordly  son  doth  march, 
When  mounted  on  his  coach,  tinsel'd  with  flames, 
He  triumphs  in  the  beauty  of  the  heavens, — 
Rests  on  this  place,  shines  on  this  glorious  field ! 
But  there  is  a  wide  difference  'twixt  you 
And  those  brave  men,  who  by  your  sides  did  stand, 
They  whom  the  gods  have  made  preservers  of  the  throne — 
Poor  soldiers  who  so  richly  fought,  whose  naked  breasts 
Stepp'd  before  targe  of  proof,  and  in  their  country's  cause, 
Fell  bravely  and  were  slain, — who  writes  their  names  ? 
What  though  the  lion's  king  of  brutish  race 
Through  outrage,  sin,  shall  lambs  therefore  be  slain? 
Or  is  it  lawful  that  the  humble  die 
Because  the  mighty  do  gainsay  the  right? 

"This  battle  fares  like  to  the  morning's  war, 
When  dying  clouds  contend  with  glowing  light, 
What  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  of  his  nails, 
Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day  nor  night. 
Now  sways  it  this  way,  like  a  mighty  sea, 
Forc'd  by  the  tide  to  combat  with  the  wind ; 
Now  sways  it  that  way,  like  the  self-same  sea, 
Forc'd  to  retire  by  fury  of  the  wind ; 
Sometime  the  flood  prevails,  and  then  the  wind, — 
Now  one  the  better,  then  another  besjfc, 
Both  tugging  to  be  victors,  breast  to  breast, 
Yet  neither  conqueror  nor  conquered, — 
So  is  the  equal  poise  of  this  fell  war. 
O  would,  Navarre,  I  might  deceive  the  time, 
And  aid  thee  in  this  doubtful  shock  of  arms ! 
Boldly  they  fight,  spur  their  proud  horses  hard, 


898  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  ride  in  blood  that  stains  the  fetlocks  of  their  steeds, 

Ere  it  the  dry  and  thirsty  earth  hath  drunk. 

Like  as  a  water  stream,  whose  swelling  source 

Shall  drive  a  mill,  within  strong  banks  is  pent, — 

And  long  restrained  of  his  ready  course, 

So  soon  as  passage  unto  him  is  lent, 

Breaks  forth,  and  makes  his  way  more  violent, — 

Such  is  the  fury  of  the  Duke  Dumain. 

The  valiant  Duke,  the  bane  of  Protestants, 

Breaks  through  the  ranks,  and  with  five-hundred  horse, 

All  men-at-arms,  forward  and  full  of  might, 

Assaults  the  middle  wing  and  puts  to  flight, 

Eight-thousand  harquebuse  that  serve  on  foot. 

The  center  then  with  all  his  force  he  charges, 

Brushes  and  batters  them  without  remorse, 

That  on  the  ground  he  leaves  full  many  a  corse ; 

Ne  any  able  is  him  to  withstand, 

But  he  them  overthrows,  both  man  and  horse, 

That  they  lie  scatt'red  over  all  the  land, 

As  thick  as  seed  after  the  sower's  hand, 

Which,  when  the  people  round  about  him  see, 

They  shout  aloud  for  joy  at  his  success; 

Yet  he  for  nought  will  swerve  from  his  right  course, 

But  still  the  way  doth  hold  straight  to  Navarre. 

When  once  he  feels  his  foeman  to  relent, 

He  fiercely  then  pursues  and  presses  sore, 

Foll'wing  that  fair  advantage  fast.     All  flock 

About  Navarre  and  hard  at  him  do  lay : 

Now  teeth  are  set  and  nostrils  stretched  wide, 

The  breath  held  hard,  and  every  spirit  bold 

Bent  up  to  its  full  height,  as  on  they  come ; 

But  he  them  all  from  him  full  lightly  sweeps 


At  the  Court  of  France.  899 

And  thrusts  them  from  him  as  the  scorn  of  France. 
Like  as  the  tide,  that  comes  from  th'  ocean  main, 
Flows  up  the  Thames  with  a  contrary  force, 
And  over-ruling  him  in  his  own  reign, 
Drives  back  the  current  of  his  kindly  course 
And  makes  it  seem  to  have  some  other  source, — 
But,  when  the  flood  is  spent,  then  back. again 
His  borrow'd  waters  forc'd  to  redisburse, 
He  sends  the  sea  his  own  with  double  gain, 
And  tribute  eke  withal  as  to  his  sovereign, — 
His  stroke  redoubles  with  such  might  and  main, 
Awhile  the  heat  of  battle  with  his  hand  he  stays, 
And  menaces  them  from  the  field  to  beat. 
'  For  France,  for  France,  for  it  is  more  than  need ! ' 
Cries  this  same  mighty  man,  and  like  a  giant, 
He  makes  the  enemy  to  fall  from  him. 

"  His  helm  I  saw  in  thickest  of  the  fight ; 
His  brandish'd  sword  did  blind  men  twith  its  beams, 
And  the  bright  gleam  of  his  swift  lance's  point 
Was  like  a  meteor's  flash  in  clearest  heaven : 
His  arms  spread  wider  than  a  dragon's  wings 
His  sparkling  eyes,  replete  with  wrathful  fire, 
More  dazzled  and  drove  back  his  enemies, 
Than  mid-day  sun  fierce  bent  against  their  faces. 

"  Close  prest  he  was  by  his  brave  followers, 
Who  swore  to  him  true  fealty  for  aye. 
Didst  thou  not  mark  the  cheering  words  he  spake  ? 
But  now  he  feels  the  sharpness  of  the  Sisters'  shears, 
And  with  his  fellow-soldiers  turns  him  back. 
The  graces  for  his  many  merits  due, 
Are  all  to  dolours  turned  and  lamentation. 

"  O  foul  revolt  of  French  inconstancy 


900  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

That  sets  itself  against  the  word  he  speaks ! 
France  thou  shalt  rue  this  hour  within  this  hour ! 
'  Tis  current  in  our  land — '  the  chopping  French.' 

"  O  sovereign  Lord,  that  sit'st  on  high 
And  reign'st  in  bliss  among  Thy  blessed  saints, 
How  suflerest  Thou  such  shameful  cruelty, 
So  long  un wreaked  of  Thine  enemy  ? 
Or  hast  Thou,  Lord,  of  good  men's  cause  no  heed  ? 
Or  doth  Thy  justice  sleep  and  silent  lie? 
What  booteth  then  the  good  and  righteous  deed, 
If  goodness  find  no  grace,  nor  righteousness  no  meed  ? 
This  day's  black  fate  on  mo  days  doth  depend, 
This  but  begins,  the  wo  others  must  end. 

"  What  stir  is  this  ?    What  tumult's  in  the  heavens  ? 
Whence  cometh  this  alarum,  and  the  noise  ? 
Have  I  no  friend  will  rid  me  of  this  fear, 
None  to  divorce  this  terror  from  my  heart  ? 
The  host  is  full  of  tumult  and  of  fear ! 
I  tremble  for  I  hear  the  lion  roar. 


"  Forespent  with  toil  as  runners  with  a  race, 
Navarre  comes  to  my  very  place  of  refuge. 

Navarre.  I  lay  me  down  a  little  while  to  breathe, 
For  strokes  receiv'd  and  many  blows  repaid 
Have  robb'd  my  strong-knit  sinews  of  their  strength, 
And  spite  of  spite,  needs  must  I  rest  awhile. 
Smile  gentle  Heaven,  or  strike  ungentle  Death, 
For  this  world  frowns,  and  Henry's  sun  is  clouded. 

Enter  Anjou  and  Lieutenant. 
How  now  my  lord,  what  hap  ?  what  hope  of  good  ? 

"  He  said  to  Anjou  as  he  join'd  him  there. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  901 

A.  Our  hap  is  loss,  our  hope  is  sad  despair, 
Our  ranks  are  broke  and  ruin  follows  us. 
What  counsel  give  you  ?  whither  shall  we  fly  ? 

Lieut.  Bootless  is  flight,  they  follow  us  with  wings, 
And  weak  we  are  and  cannot  shun  pursuit. 

N.  Stay,  stay,  my  friends  and  speak  not  here  of  flight. 

A.  But  how  prevail'd  you? 

N.  Will  the  time  serve  to  tell  ?     I  do  not  think : 
Where  is  the  enemy  ?    Are  you  lords  o'  th'  field  ? 
If  not,  why  cease  you  till  you  are  so  ? 

A.  Navarre,  we  have  at  disadvantage  fought, 
And  did  retire  to  win  our  purpose. 

N.  How  lies  their  battle  ?    Know  you  on  which  side 
They  have  plac'd  their  men  of  trust  ? 

A.  As  I  guess,  Navarre, 

Their  bands  in  the  vaward  are  their  best  trust — 
Their  very  heart  of  hope. 

N.  Then  let  the  earth  be  drunken  with  our  blood ! 
Give  me  another  horse ;  bind  up  my  wounds ! 
Why  stand  we  like  soft-hearted  women  here, 
Wailing  our  losses  while  the  foe  doth  rage  ? 
We  all  that  are  engaged  to  this  loss, 
Knew  that  we  ventur'd  on  such  dangerous  seas, 
That  if  we  wrought  out  life,  was  ten  to  one : 
And  yet  we  ventur'd  for  the  gain  propos'd, 
Chok'd  the  respect  of  likely  peril  fear'd, 
And  since  we  are  o'er-set,  venture  again ! 
Come,  we  will  all  put^orth,  body  and  goods. 
Away  my  lord,  you  are  slow,  for  shame, — away ! 
What  are  you  made  of?    you'll  nor  fight  nor  fly? 

A.  Now  is  it  manhood,  wisdom  and  defence, 
To  give  the  enemy  way,  and  to  secure  us 


902  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

By  what  we  Can,  which  can  no  more  but  fly ! 

•  N.  And  yet,  my  lord,  can  we  out-run  the  heavens  ? 

0  where  is  faith !     O  where  is  loyalty ! 
If  it  be  banish'd  from  our  noble  France, 
Where  shall  it  find  a  harbor  in  the  earth  ? 

1  do  beseech  you,  Alen§on,  my  brother, 
By  all  the  battles  wherein  we  have  fought, 

By  th'  blood  we've  shed  together,  by  th'  vows  we've  made 

To  endure  friends,  that  you  directly  set  me 

Against  the  Guise,  and  that  you  not  delay, 

But  filling  th'  air  with  swords  advanc'd,  and  darts, 

We  prove  this  very  hour.     On,  on,  brave  men ! 

Now  put  your  shields  before  your  hearts  and  fight 

With  hearts  more  proof  than  shields. 


"Navarre's  as  full  of  valor  as  of  royal  blood: 
Valor  and  pride  excel  themselves  in  him, 
In  the  extremity  of  great  and  little; 
The  one  almost  as  infinite  as  all, 
The  other  blank  as  nothing:  weigh  him  well, 
And  that  which  looks  like  pride,  is  courtesy. 
He's  like  brave  Richard  of  the  lion-heart : 
O,  well  did  he  become  that  lion's  robe, 
That  did  disrobe  the  lion  of  that  robe, 
And  well  doth  brave  Navarre,  also,  become 
All  emblems  of  successful  feats  of  arms. 
In  war,  was  never  lion  rag'd  more  fierce ; 
In  peace,  was  never  gentle  lamb  m^re  mild. 

"The  trumpets  sound  retreat! — the  day  is  lost! 
And  for  this  night  the  furies  stay  the  battle. 
Why  droops  my  lord,  like  over-ripen'd  corn, 
Hanging  the  head  at  Ceres'  plenteous  load  ? 


At  the  Court  of  France.  903 

You  cast  the  events  of  war  (my  noble  lord) 

And  summ'd  the  accompt  of  chance  before  you  said, — 

'  Let  us  make  head,  and  let  us  bold  approach 

The  ragged'st  hour  that  time  and  spite  dare  bring.' 

Why  doth  the  great  Duke  Anjou  knit  his  brows, 

As  frowning  at  the  favors  of  the  world? 

Look  not  upon  me  for  thine  eyes  are  wounding ! 

Upon  thy  eye-balls  murderous  tyranny 

Sits  in  grim  majesty  to  fright  the  world. 

Why  are  thine  eyes  fixt  to  the  sullen,  earth, 

Gazing  on  that  which  seems  to  dim  thy  sight? 

What  see'st  thou  there  ?     King  Henry's  diadem, 

Enchas'd  with  all  the  honors  of  the  world  ? 

If  so,  gaze  on  and  grovel  on  thy  face,      4 

Until  thy  head  be  circled  with  the  same. 

Thy  heaven  is  on  earth,  thine  eyes  and  thoughts 

Beat  on  a  crown,  the  treasure  of  thy  heart, 

That  with  foul  envy  poisons  all  the  mind. 

Anjou,  Anjou !  if  thou  dost  lovo  thy  life, 

Banish  the  canker  of  ambitious  thoughts. 

Good  Duke,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition, 

By  that  sin  fell  the  angels  :  how  can  man  then 

(The  image  of  his  Maker)  hope  to  win  by  it? 

Love  thyself  last,  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 

Still  in  thy  right  hand,  carry  gentle  peace 

To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just  and  fear  not  ;<_ 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  Country's, 

Thy  God's,  and  Truth's. 

"  Last  night  methought  I  sate  in  seat  of  majesty, 
In  the  cathedral  church  of  Westminster, 


904  Sir  Francis  Bacoris  Lije 

And  in  that  chair  where  kings  and  queens  were  crown'd, 

Where  Henry  and  Dame  Margaret  kneel'd  to  me, 

And  on  my  head  did  set  the  diadem. 

Then  said  an  angel  voice  divinely  clear : — 

'  Your  grace's  title  shall  be  multiplied, 

But  you  were  ill  advised  to  take  it 

Considering  of  the  dangerous  times, 

That  have  befalne  us.'     And  then  more  sweet : — 

'Jesus  preserve  your  royal  majesty.' 

It  then  meseem'd  the  peers  were  fall'n  at  jars ; 

A  spirit,  rais'd  from  depth  of  under  ground, 

Bade  me  a  trumpet  take  and  to  this  purpose  speak : — 

1  No  marvel  though  you  bite  so  sharp  at  reasons, 

You  are  so  empty  of  them  that  your  speech  hath  none, 

But  let  your  reason  serve  to  make  the  truth  appear, 

Where  it  seems  hid.' 

"  And  then  I  did  reflect, — 
It  best  beseemeth  me  to  speak  the  truth ; 
Falsehood  is  worse  in  kings  than  'tis  in  beggars. 
I  will  abide  all  with  a  prince's  courage, 
And  yet,  alack,  why  am  I  sent  unto  a  king, 
Before  I  have  shook  off  the  regal  thoughts, 
Wherewith  my  brain  is  stirr'd  ?     I  do  but  think 
How  sweet  a  thing  it  is  to  wear  a  crown, 
Within  whose  circuit  is  elysium 
And  all  that  poets  fain  of  bliss  and  joy. 

"  I  met  the  Duke  yesterday,  had  much  question 
With  him :    he  askt  me  of  what  parentage 
I  was ;  I  told  him  of  as  good  as  he—- 
To prove  that  true,  needs  no  more  but  one  tongue. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  905 

"  Duke.  Say  what  art  thou,  that  talk'st  of  kings  and 
queens? 

"  F.  B.  More  than  I  seem,  and  less   than  I  was  born 

to, 

A  man  at  least,  for  less  I  should  not  be ; 
And  men  may  talk  of  kings,  and  why  not  I? 

"D.  Aye,  but  thou  talk'st  as  if  thou  wert  a  king. 

"F.  B.  Why  so  I  am  (in  mind)  and  that's  enough. 

"Z>.  But  if  thou  be  a  king,  where  is  thy  crown? 

"F.  B.  My  crown  is  in  my  heart,  not  on  my  head. 

"D.  Ill-weav'd  ambition,  how  much  hast  thou  shrunk  ! 

"  So  he  laugh'd  and  let  me  go,  but  what  if  he 
Had  ask'd, — *  Who  might  your  mother  be,  brave  boy  ? ' 
How  must  I  answer  ?     He  may  say  to  me : — 
*  Tis  not  her  glass  but  you  that  flatter  her, 
And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper 
Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her.' 
And  he  would  tell  a  tale  that  should  begin 
Like  tales  of  fairy : — '  Once  upon  a  time 
There  was  a  queen — .'     No,  no,  I'll  hold  my  peace : 
Though  I  am  banish'd,  I'll  be  true  to  her. 

"  But  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  fail'd 
To  be  proclaim'd  without  the  trumpet's  sound. 
The  bruit  therof  would  bring  me  many  friends, 
But  nought  would  serve  to  save  the  Queen's  renown, 
And  wisdom  'tis  still  to  conceal  the  matter 
With  scrupulous  wit ;  yet  is  it  true,  methinks,  X 
That  fearless  minds  climb  soonest  unto  crowns.   \ 
I  do  believe,  straighMhrough,  that  I  am  none,     J 
Or  like  to  be  :  I'm  neither  like  my  sire, 
Nor  like  my  mother.     Had  I  wiser  been, 
This  banishment  had  never  hapt  to  me. 


906  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

If  that  be  right  which  the  Queen  says  is  right, 
There  is  no  wrong,  but  everything  is  right. 

"  I  will  away  to  Margaret,  the  sweet  queen, 
And  give  her  this  account  with  moving  words, 
For  she's  a  woman  to  be  pitied  much : 
Her  labour  with  the  King's  but  lost,  and  yet, 
Her  sighs  will  make  a  batt'ry  in  his  breast ; 
Her  tears  will  pierce  into  a  marble  heart ; 
The  tiger  will  be  mild,  whiles  she  doth  mourn, 
And  Nero  will  be  tainted  with  remorse, 
To  hear  her  plaints,  and  see  her  brinish  tears. 
She's  on  his  left  side  craving  aid  for  Henry, 
Whiles  he,  the  injurious  Duke,  pernicious  peer, 
That  smooths  it  so  with  king  and  commonweal, 
Is  on  his  right  install'd  and  tells  his  title, 
Inferreth  arguments  of  mighty  strength, 
And,  in  conclusion,  wins  the  King  from  her,  his  sister, 
With  promise  to  support  and  strengthen  him. 
O  Margaret,  thus  'twill  be ;  and  thou,  poor  soul, 
Art  then  forsaken,  as  thou  wend'st  forlorn, 
And  all  thy  happy  days  die  long  before  thy  death. 

"They  that  stand  high  have  many  blasts  to  shake 

them, 

And  if  they  fall,  they  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 
Good  counsel,  marry,  and  the  Queen  might  say, 
'  It  touches  you,  my  lord,  as  much  as  me.' 
Our  ayrie  buildeth  in  the  cedar's  top, 
And  dallies  with  the  wind  and  scorns  the  sun, 
And  turns  the  sun  to  shade.     Alas,  alas ! 
My  sun  is  cast  in  darkness  like  to  night, 
But  O,  the  greedy  thirst  of  royal  crown, 
That  knows  no  kindred  and  regards  no  right ! 


At  the  Court  of  France.  907 

"  Now,  will  I  to  the  King  and  tell  him  all, 
But  I  cannot  well  be  the  first  to  greet  him — 
These  news,  as  fast  as  horse  can  carry,  thither  goes — 
But  he  himself  most  earnestly  did  bid  me 
Stay  for  an  answer  to  mine  embassy ; 
How  should  he  then  the  tidings  hear  from  me, 
Had  I  not  rang'd  about  and  watch  d  the  fight — 
A  woful  looker-on — from  sun  to  sun, 
Amidst  this  hurly-burly  and  uproar? 
'  Twere  a  disgrace  from  it  to  run  away, 
Yet  what  a  piercing  sight  it  was  to  see ! 

"  The  thunder-hoofed  horse,  with  his  proud  gait, 
Fast  bears  me  to  the  court,  for  I  am  eager 
To  seek  the  King ;  but  yet  I  did  not  think 
To  be  so  sad  to-night,  as  this  has  made  me. 

His  Majesty  from  forth  his  princely  tower, 
Hath  seen  me  coming  in  such  posting  haste, 
And  meets  me  in  the  open  air. 

"  Quoth  he,:— 

K.  Hail,  gallant  boy !     Thou  com'st  at  last  to  me. 
I  joy  to  see  thee.     Thou  art  my  good-youth. 

F.  B.  May  many  years  of  happy  days  befall 
King  Henry,  gracious  sovereign  of  France, 
Until  the  heavens,  envying  earth's  good  hap, 
Add  an  immortal  title  to  your  crown.  . 

K.  Now  thou  shalt  be  our  royal  page,  or  squire  ; 
I'll  be  thy  master, — walk  with  me ;  speak  freely, 
But  to  the  purpose,  boy.     What  letters  or  what  news? 

F.  B.  My  soverereign  liege,  no  letters,  and  few  words 
But  such  as  I,  without  your  special  pardon, 
Dare  not  relate. 


908  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

K.  Go  to,  we  pardon  thee ;  therefore,  in  brief, 
Tell  me  their  words  as  near  as  thou  canst  guess  them. 
What  may  the  cause  be  of  this  strange  and  sudden 
Distemper  ? 

F.  jB.  It  is  your  Guise,  methinks. 

K.  There  is  no  art 

To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face. 
He  was  a  gentleman  on  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust.  O  worthiest  cousin, 
It  is  the  curse  of  kings,  to  be  attended 
By  slaves  that  take  their  humors  for  a  warrant, 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life, 
And  on  the  winking  of  authority 
To  understand  a  law ;  to  know  the  meaning 
Of  dangerous  majesty,  when  perchance  it  frowns 
More  upon  humor  than  advis'd  respect. 
They  with  this  practice  have  commenc'd  a  war. 
O  cursed  race  of  men  that  traffic  guile, 
And  in  the  end  themselves  and  kings  beguile ! 
That  fox,  that  cursed  parasite,  that  Guise, 
Hath  incens'd  me  to  send  the  wolf  abroad, 
That  gripes  the  tender  whelp  and  wounds  it.     You 
Shall  find  there  a  man,  who  is  th'  abstracts  af  all  faults 
That  all  men  follow. 

F.  B.  I  must  not  think 

There  are  evils  enow  to  darken  all  his  goodness : 
His  faults  in  him,  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven, 
More  fiery  by  night's  blackness ;  hereditary, 
Rather  than  purchas'd, — what  he  cannot  change. 
Than  what  he  chooses. 

K.  You  are  too  indulgent. 

F.  E.  I  never  saw  but  Henry,  Duke  of  Guise, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  909 

Did  bear  him  like  a  noble  gentlemen. 

Oft  have  I  seen  the  haughty  Cardinal, 

More  like  a  soldier  than  a  man  o'  th'  Church, 

As  stout  and  proud  as  he  were  lord  of  all, 

Swear  like  a  ruffian,  and  demean  himself 

Unlike  the  ruler  of  a  common-weal, 

But  Guise,  your  majesty,  does  nothing  so. 

K.  I  tell  you  boy  he  is  a  most  arch  traitor, 
But  this  helps  not  myself — gives  me  no  aid. 
Asham'd  of  my  suggestions  and  advice, 
Asham'd  of  life,  asham'd  that  I  have  err'd, 
I'll  hide  myself.     Thus  God  doth  work 
With  those  that  purchase  fame  by  flattery ! 
The  love  of  wicked  friends  converts  to  fear; 
That  fear,  to  hate ;  and  hate  turns  one,  or  both, 
To  worthy  danger,  and  deserved  death. 
I  hope  in  vain  for  that  which  now  is  lost ! 
Where  shall  I  hide  my  head !  I  know  the  heavens 
Are  just  and  will  revenge.     I  know  my  sins 
Exceed  compare.     O  were  I  dead! 

F.  B.  Pray  cease, 

Lest  I,  by  marking  of  your  rage,  forget 
Your  worth,  your  greatness,  and  nobility. 

K.  Pardon,  my  courteous  youth,  I  am  at  fault. 
And  yet,  if  God's  good  will  were  so,  would  I  were  dead,. 
For  what  is  in  this  world,  but  grief  and  woe. 
O  God !  methinks  it  were  a  happy  life, 
To  be  no  better  than  a  homely  swain, 
To  sit  upon  a  hill,"  as  I  do  now, 
To  carve  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point, 
Thereby  to  see  the  minutes  how  they  run ; 
How  many  makes  the  hour  full  complete, 


910  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

How  many  hours  brings  about  the  day, 

How  many  days  will  finish  up  the  year, 

How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  live. 

When  this  is  known,  then  to  divide  the  times ; 

So  many  hours,  must  I  tend  my  flock ; 

So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest; 

So  many  hours,  must  I  contemplate ; 

So  many  hours,  must  I  sport  myself; 

So  many  days,  my  ewes  have  been  with  young; 

So  many  weeks,  ere  the  poor  fools  will  eane ; 

So  many  years,  ere  I  shall  shear  the  fleece ; 

So  minutes,  hours,  days,  months,  and  years, 

Past  over  to  the  end  they  were  created, 

Would  bring  white  hairs  to  a  quiet  grave : 

Ah !  what  a  life  were  this !  how  sweet,  how  lovely ! 

Gives  not  the  hawthorn's  bush  a  sweeter  shade 

To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  sheep, 

Than  doth  a  rich  embroider'd  canopy, 

To  kings  ftiat  fear  their  subject's  treachery  ? 

'  Tis  kingly  to  amend  what  is  amiss, 

And  for  assurance  of  mine  after  life, 

I  take  religious  vows  before  my  God. 

Coligny's  body  I've  interr'd  anew, 

And  on  it  have  bestow'd  more  contrite  tears, 

Than  from  it  issued  forced  drops  of  blood. 

Five-hundred  poor  I  have  in  yearly  pay, 

Who  twice  a  day  their  wither'd  hands  hold  up 

Toward  heaven,  to  pardon  blood  : 

And  I  have  built  two  chauntries, 

Where  the  sad  and  solemn  priests  sing  still,     . 

For  his  poor  soul.     More  will  I  do : 

Though  all  that  I  can  do  is  nothing  worth, 


At  the   Court  of  France.  911 

Since  that  my  penitence  comes  after  all, 
Imploring  pardon.     But  my  gentle  friend, 
My  champions  are  the  Prophets  and  Apostles, 
My  weapons,  holy  saws  of  Sacred  Writ, 
My  study  is  my  tilt-yard,  and  my  loves 
Are  brazen  images  of  canonized  saints. 
I  thank  my  God  for  my  humility : 
A  holy  day  shall  this  be  kept  hereafter, — 
The  yearly  course  that  brings  this  day  about 
Shall  never  see  it  but  a  holy  day. 

F.  B.  A  wicked  day  and  not  a  holy  day. 
What  hath  this  day  deserv'd  ?     What  hath  it  done  ? 
I  would  to  God  all  strifes  were  well  compounded, 
Peace  made  of  enmity,  fair  love  of  hate, 
Between  these  swelling  wrong-incensed  peers. 
You  know  your  nobles  are  your  chiefest  stays 
And  long  time  have  been  banish'd  from  your  court. 
Thus,  while  the  vulture  of  sedition, 
Feeds  in  the  bosom  of  such  great  commanders, 
Sleeping  neglection  doth  betray  to  loss ; 
And  no  way  canst  thou  turn  thee  for  redress, 
But  death  doth  front  thee  with  apparent  spoil, 
And  pale  destruction  meets  thee  in  the  face. 
O  be  not  blind  to  good.     Call  home  thy  lords — 
These  carelessly,  O  King,  thou  castest  off 
To  entertain  a  train  of  sycophants — 
Embrace,  and  reconcile  them  to  yourself; 
They  are  your  hands  whereby  you  ought  to  work. 

K.  Ah !  thou  hast  made  my  heart  too  great  for  what 
Contains  it,  boy,  since  that  thy  sight  which  should 
Make  our  eyes  flow  with  joy,  hearts  dance  with  comforts, 
Constrains  them  weep,  and  shake  with  fear  and  sorrow , 


912  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Making  the  mother,  wife  and  child,  to  see 

The  son,  the  husband,  and  the  father,  tearing 

The  country's  bowels  out.     We  must  bear  all. 

O  hard  condition,  twin-born  with  greatness, 

Subject  to  the  breath  of  every  fool,  whose  sense 

No  more  can  feel  but  his  own  wringing.     Men  that  make 

Envy  and  crooked  malice  nourishment, 

Dare  bite  the  best.     What  infinite  hearts-ease 

Must  kings  neglect,  that  private  men  enjoy! 

And  what  have  kings,  that  privates  have  not  too, 

Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony ! 

And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony? 

What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  sufFer'st  more 

Of  mortal  griefs  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 

What  are  thy  rents?  what  are  thy  comings-in? 

O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth ! 

This  new  and  gorgeous  garment,  majesty, 

Sits  not  so  easy  on  me  as  you  think, 

And  e'er  a  crown's  a  troublesome  bedfellow. 

O  polish'd  perturbation,  golden  care, 

That  keep'st  the  ports  of  slumber  open  wide, 

To  many  a  watchful  night !     O  majesty ! 

When  thou  dost  pinch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 

Like  a  rich  armor,  worn  in  heat  of  day, 

That  scald'st  with  safety.     O  foolish  youth ! 

Thou  seek'st  the  greatness  that  will  over -whelm  thee. 

Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 

"  Upon  these  words,  I  came  and  cheer'd  him  up ; 
He  smil'd  me  in  the  face,  raught  me  his  hand, 
And  with  a  feeble  gripe  ask'd  wearily  : — 

K.  But  what  said  Francis  to  my  messages  ? 


At  the  Court  of  France.  913 

F.  B.  He  is  malevolent  to  you  in  all  aspects, 
Which  makes  him  prune  himself,  and  bristle  up 
The  crest  of  youth  against  your  dignity. 
He,  more  incens'd  against  your  majesty 
Than  all  the  rest,  discharg'd  me  with  these  words: — 
'  Tell  him  from  me  that  he  hath  done  me  wrong, 
And  therefore  I'll  uncrown  him  ere't  be  long.' 

K.  Ha !  durst  the  traitor  breathe  out  so  proud  words  ? 
Well,  I  will  arm  me,  being  thus  forewarn'd. 
They  shall  have  wars  and  pay  for  their  presumption  : 
By  heaven,  his  madness  shall  be  paid  by  weight, 
Till  our  scale  turns  the  beam. 

F.  B.  O  most  dread  Sovereign,  may  it  like  your  Grace 
To  let  my  tongue  excuse  all.     What  was  purpos'd 
Concerning  his  imprisonment,  was  rather 
(If  there  be  faith  in  men)  meant  for  his  trial 
And  fair  purgation  to  the  world,  than  malice, 
I'm  sure.     But  this  I  cannot  say,  my  liege, 
Concerning  the  hard  part  your  hand  doth  bear 
Against  him  now.     It  is  the  cruelty 
Of  the  wild  beast  of  prey — the  tiger,  bear, 
Of  their  prize  cheated,  or  the  lioness 
Robb'd  of  her  whelps. 

K.  Go  rate  thy  minions,  proud  insulting  boy 
Becomes  it  thee  to  be  thus  bold  in  terms, 
Before  a  Sovereign  and  a  lawful  King? 
Shamest  thou  not,  knowing  whence  thou  art  extraught, 
To  let  thy  tongue  detect  thy  base-born  heart? 
Remember,  sir,  thou  art  a  banish'd  creature. 

"  I  know  not  what  to  say,  but  I  reply 
After  a  silence  : — 


914  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  B.  I  mock  my  name,  great  King,  to  natter  you. 
"When  you  this  offer'd  homage  do  despise, 
You  pluck  a  thousand  dangers  on  your  head ; 
You  lose  a  thousand  well-disposed  hearts, 
And  prick  my  tender  patience  to  those  thoughts 
Which  honor  and  allegiance  cannot  think. 
What's  the  result  ?     You  do  not  meet  a  man  but  frowns. 

K.  Thinkst  thou  that  I  will  leave  my  kingly  throne, 
Wherein  my  father  and  my  grandsire  sat  ? 
No !  first  shall  war  unpeople  this  my  realm. 

F.  B.  But,  your  Grace, 
My  title's  good,  and  better  far  than  yours. 
I  am,  indeed,  the  lawful  King  to  England 
For  I  am  rightful  heir  unto  the  crown. 
Begin,  O  Clio,  and  recount  from  hence 
My  glorious  sovereign's  goodly  ancestry, 
Till  that  by  due  degrees  and  long  pretence, 
Thou  have  it  brought  unto  her  excellence. 

K.  Thy  father  was  a  simple  lord,  and  thou  thyself — 

F.  B.  And  Adam  was  a  gardener ! 

K.  And  what  of  that  ? 

F.  B.    Marry,     this, — Edmund    Mortimer,    Earl    of 

March, 
Married  the  Duke  of  Clarence's  daughter,  did  he  not  ? 

K.  Tut,  tut,  sir,  tell  us  not  that  ancient  tale ! 

F.  B.  From  him  my  lineage  I  derive  aright, — • 
'Tis  from  that  line  my  mother  claims  the  crown, 
And  I,  her  son,  inspired  with  the  spirit 
Of  putting  down  kings  and  princes,  command 
Silence  upon  my  birth  and  parentage. 
Here  on  your  royal  earth,  Henry  the  Fifth 
Did  revel  in  the  very  heart  of  France, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  915 

And  tam'd  the  king,  and  made  the  Dolphin  and  the  French 

To  stoop,  seiz'd  on  their  towns  and  provinces, 

And  had  he  willed  it  so,  proud  Sovereign, 

We  might  have  kept  that  glory  to  this  day, 

And  all  the  learned  counsel  of    the  realm 

Have  still  in  state  sat  in  the  Council-house, 

Early  and  late  debating  to  and  fro, 

How  France  and  Frenchmen  might  be  kept  in  awe. 

I  never  read  but  England's  kings  have  come 

Hither  in  pomp,  in  glittering  arms  adorn'd, 

Aye,  and  their  colors — often  borne  in  France 

And  now  in  England,  to  your  heart's  great  sorrow — 

Shall  be  my  winding  sheet.     I  do  assure  you, 

France  should  have  torn  and  rent  my  very  heart 

Before  I  would  have  yielded  to  the  league. 

And  when  that  I  am  crowned  England's  King, 

By  favor  of  almighty  God,  I'll  try 

My  right  unto  the  crown  of  France  itself, 

Remembering  there  has  been  a  French  king  prisoner 

In  England,  and  a  king  of  England  crown'd  in  France. 

Know  you,  O  King  of  France,  our  countrymen 

Are  men  more  order'd,  than  when  Julius  Caesar 

Smil'd  at  their  lack  of  skill,  but  found  their  courage 

Worthy  his  frowing  at.     Their  discipline, 

(Now  wing-led  with  their  courages)  will  make  known 

To  their  approvers,  they  are  people  such 

That  mend  upon  the  world.     See,  proud  Valois, 

I'll  muster  up  my  friends  and  loving  citizens, 

Not  mutinous  in  peace,  but  bold  in  war, 

And  rest  in  London,  circled  round  with  soldiers, 

Like  to  the  island  girt  in  with  the  ocean. 

Now  stops  thy  spring,  my  sea  shall  suck  them  dry 


916  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  swell  so  much  the  higher  by  their  ebb. 

Because  that  I  am  little,  like  an  ape, 

You  think  that  you  should  bear  me  on  your  shoulders — 

Thou  art  no  Atlas  for  so  great  a  weight. 

I  would  I  had  thy  inches,  thou  shouldst  know 

There  was  a  heart  in  France. 

"  The  King  unto  himself  aside  did  say  : — 

K.  With  what  a  sharp  proyided  wit  he  reasons ! 
So  cunning,  and  so  young,  is  wonderful. 
His  looks  are  full  of  peaceful  majesty, 
His  head  by  nature  fram'd  to  wear  a  crown, 
His  hand  to  wield  a  sceptre,  and  himself 
Likely  in  time  to  bless  a  regal  throne. 
To  mitigate  the  scorn  he  gives  to  me, 
He  prettily  and  aptly  taunts  himself: 
Oh,  'tis  a  perilous  boy,  bold,  quick,  ingenious, 
Forward,  capable :  he  is  all  the  mother's 
From  top  to  toe. 

"  And  then  he  said  aloud  : — 

K.  Art  thou  so  desperate  grown  to  threat  thy  friends  ? 
I  crave  to  give  thy  English  pride  a  brave. 
Unthink  thy  speaking,  boy,  and  say  no  more. 

"  In  silence  then,  I  waited  his  dismissal." 
"  But  since  the  King  is  tender  in  all  things 
That  may  but  glance  upon  the  friendship  of  England, 
The  amity  between  the  two  kingdoms, 
No  doubt,  stands  entire  and  inviolate.?" 

"Aye ;  peace  doth  still  her  wheaten  garland  wear,. 
And  stands  a  comma  'tween  their  amities  ; 
And  that  their  subjects'  swords  have  clash'd, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  917 

Is  nothing  to  the  public  peace  o'  th'  crowns, 

It  being  a  thing  very  usual 

In  auxiliary  forces  of  confederates, 

The  straightest  and  the  best,  to  meet  and  draw 

Blood  in  the  field." 

"  But  kings  stoop  not  to  every  common  thought, 
And  'tis  not  hard  to  discern  what's  a  king's  own." 

"  But  that  which  mov'd  him  most,  was  that 
Being  a  king  that  lov£d  wealth  and  treasure, 
He  could  not  well  endure  to  have  trade  sick, 
Nor  any  obstruction  to  continue 
In  the  gate-vein  that  disperseth  that  blood." 

"  Soon  the  King  rous'd  from  thought,  and  seeing 
me,  said : — 

K.  I  have  my  wish  in  that  I  'joy  thy  sight, 
And  sooner  shall  the  sea  o'erwhelm  my  land, 
Than  bear  the  ship  that  shall  transport  thee  hence. 
Wilt  please  thee  pass  along  into  the  palace  ? 
Margaret  is  there,  and  she  will  welcome  you. 

"  O  dissembling  courtesy !     How  fine  this  tyrant 
Can  tickle  where  he  wounds.     I  something  fear 
My  father's  wrath  for  this,  but  nothing  what 
His  rage  can  do  on  me.     I  have  been  rash 
And  bridl'd  not  my  tongue,  and  shall  incur 
I  know  not  how  much  of  his  displeasure, 
When  this  comes  to  his  ears. 

"To  an  attendant  then  he  call'd : — 

K.  Come  hither,  Count ; 

Thou  art  sworn  as  deeply  to  effect  what  we  intend, 
As  closely  to  conceal  what  we  impart. 
Thou  know'st  our  reasons  urg'd  upon  the  way. 


918  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

What  think'st  thou  ?     Is  it  not  an  easy  matter  ? 
A  harmful  "weed,  by  wisdom  rooted  out, 
Can  never  liurt  the  true  ingrafted  plant. 

Count.  My  Sovereign,  he  so  loveth  the  Duke 
That  he  will  not  be  won  to  aught  against  him. 

K.  Well,  I  will  stoop  and  humble  my  intents 
To  thy  well  practic'd  wise  directions. 

C.  I  wonder  that  his  insolence  can  brook 
To  be  commanded  under  Alengon  ? 

K.  Fame,  at  the  which  he  aims, 
In  whom  already  he's  well  grac'd,  cannot 
^Better  be  held,  nor  more  attain'd  than  by 
A  place  below  the  first ;  for  what  miscarries 
Shall  be  the  General's  fault,  though  he  perform 
To  th'  utmost  of  a  man,  and  giddy  censure 
Will  then  cry  out  of  Henry, — 'Oh,  if  he 
Had  borne  the  business ! ' 

(7.  Besides,  if  things  go  well, 
Opinion  that  so  strikes  on  Henry,  shall 
Of  his  demerits  rob  Duke  of  Alenyon. 

K.  Alas,  poor  Duke,  the  task  he  undertakes 
Is  numbering  sands,  or  drinking  oceans  dry ! 
Where  one  on  his  side  fights,  thousands  will  fly. 

"  Thus  arm  in  arm  the  King  and  he  doth  march, 
Nay  more,  the  guard  upon  his  lordship  waits, 
And  all  the  court  begins  to  flatter  him. 
Thus  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  the  King, 
He  nods,  and  scorns,  and  smiles  at  those  that  pass. 
Doth  no  man  take  exceptions  at  the  slave? 
All  stomach  him,  but  none  dare  speak  a  word, — 
Ah  !  that  bewrays  their  baseness,  by  my  faith  ! 
Were  all  these  noble  peers  here  of  my  mind, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  919 

We'd  hale  him  from  the  bosom  of  the  King. 
His  sale  of  offices  and  towns  in  France 
If  they  were  known,  as  the  suspect  is  great, 
Would  make  him  quickly  hop  without  his  head. 

"  I  hear  him  say  as  they  approach  more  near  : — 

C.  Well,  let  that  peevish  Frenchman  guard  him  sure ; 
Unless  his  breast  be  sword-proof  he  shall  die. 

"  I'll  fetch  a  turn  about  the  garden  now, 
And  I  will  leer  on  him,  as  he  comes  by, 
Then  do  but  mark  the  countenance  he'll  give  me ! 
At  this  inatant  he  bores  me  with  some  trick ; 
His  eye  revil'd  me  as  his  abject  object, 
And  in  his  looks  I  read  matter  against  me. 
I'll  follow  and  out-stare  him. 

"  That  I  thus  linger  pleases  not  the  King, 
And  turning  from  his  friend  he  says  to  me : — 

K.  I  bade  you  sir,  go  in ;  you  are  awaited, 
And  courtesy  at  least  forbids  delay. 

"  I  see  sweet  Margaret  in  an  upper  room, 
And  thither  wend  to  greet  the  Queen  of  Love, 
And  bear  the  messages  and  letters  of  Navarre, 
For  sure  I  must  to  her  my  oath  fulfill. 
I  send  no  messenger,  myself  first  brings 
To  my  sweet  madam  these  unwelcome  tidings. 
She  meets  me  ere  I  enter,  with  the  words  : — 

Margaret.  What  news,  what  tidings,  gentle  Prince  of 

Wales? 

What  of  Navarre?  what  of  the  Duke,  my  brother? 
Thou  tremblest,  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek, 


920  Sir  Francis  Bacoris  Life 

Is  apter  than  thy  tongue,  to  tell  thine  errand. 

F.  B.  Sweet  Queen,  I'm  out  of  breath,  and  scarce 
can  speak. 

M.  How  art  thou  out  of  breath,  when  thou  hast  breath 
To  say  to  me,  that  thou  art  out  of  breath  ? 
The  excuse  that  thou  dost  make  in  this  delay 
Is  longer  than  the  tale  thou  dost  excuse. 
Is  thy  news  good  or  bad  ?  answer  to  that ; 
Say  either,  and  I'll  stay  the  circumstance : 
Let  me  be  satisfied,  is't  good  or  bad  ? 

F.  B.  I  come  from  your  good  lord  and  bring  you 
letters. 

"Then  Margaret  saith — her  tones   are  piercing 
sweet : — 

M.  Letters? 

Ah !  with  mine  eyes  I'll  drink  the  words  he  sends, 
Though  ink  be  made  of  gall.     How  far'd  he  in  the  fight 
In  honor  of  our  God  and  country's  good  ? 

F.  B.  Environed  he  was  with  many  foes, 
And  stood  against  them,  as  the  hope  of  Troy 
Against  the  Greeks,  that  would  have  enter'd  Troy : 
But  Hercules  himself  must  yield  to  odds, 
And  many  strokes,  though  with  a  little  axe, 
Hews  down  and  fells  the  hardest-timber'd  oak. 
I  saw  his  followers,  to  the  eager  foe 
Turn  back,  and  fly  like  ships  before  the  wind, 
Or  lambs  pursued  by  hunger-starved  wolves. 
God  knows  what  hath  bechanced  him  since  then, 
But  this  I  know,  he  hath  demean'd  himself 
Like  one  born  to  renown,  by  life  or  death. 
And  when  the  hardiest  warriors  did  retire, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  921 

Navarre  cried :     '  Charge,  and  give  no  foot  of  ground ! ' 
And  cried :     '  A  crown,  or  else  a  glorious  tomb ! 
A  scepter,  or  an  earthly  sepulchre ! ' 

M.  Par  la  mart  du  dieu,  il  mourraf 
And  thus,  and  thus,  thou  tellest  how  they  fought, 
Stopping  my  greedy  ear  with  their  bold  deeds, 
But  in  the  end  (to  stop  mine  ear  indeed) 
Thou  hast  a  sigh,  to  blow  away  this  praise, 
Ending  with  brother, — husband, — both  are  dead  ? 

F.  B.  Take  comfort,  madam,  leave  these  sad  laments : 
Navarre  is  living  and  your  brother,  too. 
Were  soldiers'  lives  valued  at  thousand  worlds, 
They  cannot  'scape  th'  arrest  of  dreadful  death — 
Death  that  doth  seize  and  summon  all  alike. 
In  few,  his  death  (whose  spirit  lent  a  fire 
Even  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  his  camp) 
Being  bruited  once,  took  fire  and  heat  away 
From  the  best  temper'd  courage  in  his  troops, 
For  from  his  mettle  was  his  party  steel'd, 
Which  once  in  him  abated,  all  the  rest 
Turn'd  on  themselves,  like  dull  and  heavy  lead : 
And  as  the  thing  that's  heavy  in  itself, 
Upon  enforcement,  flies  with  greatest  speed, 
So  did  his  men,  heavy  in  Henry's  loss, 
Lend  to  this  weight  such  lightness,  in  their  fear, 
That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim, 
Than  did  his  soldiers  (ayming  at  their  safety) 
Fly  from  the  field.     The  mouse  ne'er  shunn'd  the  cat, 
As  they  did  budge  from  rascals  worse  than  they. 
The  sum  of  all  is,  that  the  King  hath  won, 
Yet  do  I  think  Navarre  is  free  from  harm. 

M.  If  he  were  dead  what  would  betide  on  me  ? 


922  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Lije 

F.  B.  No  other  harm  but  loss  of  such  a  lord. 

M.  The  loss  of  such  a  lord  includes  all  harms. 
As  Henry's  late  presaging  prophecy, 
Did  glad  my  heart  with  hope  of  this  young  hero, 
So  doth  my  heart  misgive  me,  in  these  conflicts 
What  may  befall  him  to  his  harm  and  ours. 

F.  B.  You  were  advis'd  his  flesh  was  capable 
Of  wounds,  and  scars ;  and  that  his  forward  spirit 
Would  lift  him,  where  most  trade  of  danger  rang'd 
Yet  did  you  say,  go  forth :  and  none  of  this, 
Though  strongly  apprehended,  could  restrain 
The  stiff-born  action :  what  hath  then  befallen  ? 
Or  what  hath  this  bold  enterprise  brought  forth, 
More  than  that  being  which  was  like  to  be  ? 
Methinks  I  hear  hither  your  husband's  drum : 
Methinks  I  see  him  stamp  thus,  and  call  thus, — 
'  Come  on,  you  cowards  !  you  were  got  in  fear 
Though  you  were  born  in  France :'  his  bloody  brow 
With  his  mail'd  hand  then  wiping,  forth  he  goes, 
Like  to  a  harvest  man,  that  task'd  to  mow 
Or  all,  or  lose  his  hire. 

M.  His  bloody  brow  ?    Oh  Jupiter,  no  blood ! 

F.  B.  It  more  becomes  a  man  than  gilt  his  trophy. 
Himself  did  say  to  me  :  '  The  blood  I  drop 
Is  rather  physical  than  dangerous  to  me.' 

M.  Heaven  bless  my  lord  from  fell  Henry  of  Guise. 

F.  B.  He'll  beat  the  Guise's  head  below  his  knee, 
And  tread  upon  his  neck. 

M.  Ah,  me !  help, — I  shall  swound. 

"  Like  to  a  stricken  deer  the  poor  Queen  turns : 
The  holy  beauty  of  her  wondrous  eyes 
Shines  on  me  through  her  tears. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  923 

Meseemeth,  as  I  look,  her  gentle  heart 
Would  die  in  tempest  of  an  angry  frown, 
Or  buffets  rude  of  sorrow  and  of  scorn. 

F.  B.  O  lady,  weep  no  more,  lest  I  give  cause 
To  be  suspected  of  more  tenderness 
Than  doth  become  a  man.     Every  minute  now 
Should  be  the  father  of  some  stratagem.. 
So  soon  as  I  can  win  the  offended  King, 
I  will  be  known  your  advocate,  sweet  Queen. 

M.  My  Prince, — 

Tis  very  kindly  spoke  like  a  true  man, 
And  it  is  honourable  in  thee  to  offer  this. 
But  step  aside  with  me  to  my  retreat ; 
We  can  more  safely  speak  of  all  our  plans. 

"  She  led  the  way  into  a  secret  bower, 
In  whose  enclosed  shadow  there  was  pight 
A  fair  pavilion,  scarcely  to  be  seen, 
The  which  was  all  within  most  richly  dight 
With  gold,  and  many  a  gorgeous  ornament, 
After  the  Persian  monarch's  antique  guise, 
Such  as  the  maker's  self  could  best  devise, 
Enchas'd  with  diamonds,  sapphires,  rubies, 
And  fairest  pearl  of  wealthy  India ; 
The  greatest  princess  it  might  well  delight. 

M.  Thy  honour  hath  an  adament  of  power, 
But  it  doth  sound, — '  away,  away,  away ! ' 
We  must  with  resolute  minds  resolve  to  fly : 
To-morrow,  sir,  with  you  I  will  set  forth 
To  meet  Navarre  as  is  appointed  us. 
Doth  not  thy  blood  thrill  at  it  ? — not  a  whit  ? 
Art  not  thou  horrible  afraid,  sweet  youth? 


C 


924  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  B.  What  man  dare,  I  dare.  Yea,  my  gracious  Queen, 
I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ; 
Who  dares  no  more,  is  none. 

M.  Thou  wilt  be  chid  to-morrow,  when  thou  comest 
back. 

F.  B.  The  King  by  this  hath  happily  receiv'd 

The  news  of  Guise'  success,  and  when  he  reads 

• 

His  personal  venture  in  the  rebels'  fight, 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  will  contend, 
Which  should  be  greatest. 

M.  You  are  right,  my  friend : 
He'd  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  ow'd 
As  'twere  a  careless  trifle.     He  will  have 
No  thought  of  you,  or  me.     'Tis  true,  'tis  true. 
Please  thee  come  something  nearer, — list  to  me ; 
I  cannot  choose  but  love  and  honor  Henry, 
And  will  prefer  his  safety  'fore  my  life, 
Whether  he  hath  dishonor'd  me  or  no : 
And  I  will  forth  to  join  him  in  the  camp, 
Provided,  my  brave  youth,  that  thou  wilt  keep 
Both  watch  and  ward  upon  me  on  the  way. 

F.  B.  Dear  Queen,  if 't  please  you  so  to  employ  me, 
With  twenty  hundred  thousand  times  more  joy 
Than  I  went  forth,  I  will  go  back  again. 
Navarre  doth  look  for  my  return  ere  long, 
So  if  you  will  but  trust  me,  on  my  honor, 
Full  well  shall  you  perceive  how  much  I  dare. 
I'll  bring  you  to  him,  and  deliver  you' 
In  three  days'  space  to  the  safe  keeping  of  your  lord. 
And  list,  sweet  Queen,  we  must  away  to-night. 
If  therefore  you  dare  trust  my  honesty, 
Your  followers  I'll  whisper  to  the  business. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  925 

M.  I  humbly  thank  thee,  gentle  sir ;  thy  plan 
Approves  itself  to  be  most  excellent. 
Thou  know'st  my  lodging ;  get  me  ink  and  paper, 
And  hire  post  horses  :  I  will  leave  to-night. 
I  do  beseech  thee,  sir,  have  patience : 
Thy  looks  are  pale  and  wild,  and  do  import 
Some  misadventure ! 

F.  B.  Tush,  thou  art  deceiv'd. 

M.  Leave  me,  and  do  the  thing  I  bid  thee  do ; 
And  hire  thou  horses,  I'll  be  with  thee  straight. 
I  am  resolv'd,  and  now  let's  see  for  means. 
So  leave  us  to  ourselves ;  these  words,  these  looks, 
Infuse  new  life  in  me.     Sweet  sir,  adieu. 

"  I  kneel  to  thank  this  lovely  Queen  for  her  sweet. 

words, 

And  beg  for  grace  to  lay  my  duty  on  her  hand : 
Frankly  she  gives  it  and  her  looks  are  gracious — 
Fain  would  I  kiss  her  feet  to  ease  my  bashful  heart :. 
For  such  a  passion  doth  embrace  my  bosom, 
My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse, 
And  all  my  powers  do  their  bestowing  lose, 
Like  vassalage,  at  unawares  encount'ring 
The  eye  of  majesty.     Lower  I  bend  and  sigh  : — 

F.  B.  O  Queen,  if  you  deny  me  favor  let  me  die ! 
I  kiss  your  hand,  but  not  in  flattery :     . 
Its  pleasant  touch  hath  made  my  heart  to  dance. 

M.  What  say'st  thou,  boy?     Is  my  young  Prince  a. 

poet? 

I  am  much  bounden  to  thee ;  fare-thee-well. 
Thou  art  so  -far  before,  that  swiftest  wing 
Of  recompense  is  slow  to  overtake  thee : 


926  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Would'st  thou  had  less  deserv'd,  that  the  proportion 
Of  thanks  and  payment  had  been  better  mated. 

"  I  look  into  the  lady's  face,  and  in  her  eyes 
I  find  a  wonder,  or  a  wondrous  miracle, 
And  I  nor  heard  nor  read  so  strange  a  thing, — 
A  shadow  of  myself  form'd  in  her  eye, 
And  in  this  form  of  beauty  read  I, — love  ! 
I  do  protest  I  never  lov'd  myself, 
Till  now  infixed,  I  behold  myself 
Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  of  her  eye. 

M.  Speak  then,  my  gentle  Prince ;  and  canst  thou  love  ? 
F.  B.  Nay,  ask  me  if  I  can  refrain  from  love, 
For  I  do  love  thee  most  unfeignedly. 

"  With  cheeks  abash'd  I  blush,  and  swear  to  serve, 
Be  it  unto  death  and  future  misery, 
This  Queen  of  earthly  queens,  as  goddess  so  divine, 
Who  charms  with  her  sweet  smile  e'en  the   most 
saturnine. 

M.  Fie,  treacherous  hue,  that  will  betray  with  blushing 
The  close  enacts  and  counsels  of  the  heart ! 
This  tells  thy  tale,  excuse  it  how  thou  canst. 

F.  B.  Fair  Margaret,  the  beauty  of  thy  face, 
Sufficient  to  bewitch  the  heavenly  powers, 
Hath  wrought  so  much  in  me,  that  now  of  late, 
I  find  myself  made  captive  unto  love. 
Laura,  to  thee,  was  but  a  kitchen  wench ; 
Dido,  a  dowdy ;  Cleopatra,  a  gypsy ; 
Helen  and  Hero,  like  to  market  girls. 
Thou,  Margaret,  are  like  the  violets 
That  strew  the  green  lap  of  the  new-come  spring. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  927 

Behold  the  window  of  my  heart,  mine  eye ! 
What  humble  suit  attends  thy  answer  there  ? 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  my  love. 

M.  I  thank  thee,  gentle  Francis,  and  be  sure 
I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy : 
And  as  my  fortune  ripens  with  thy  love, 
It  shall  be  still  thy  true  love's  recompense. 

F.  B.  Your   presence  makes   me  rich,  my  gracious 

Queen, 
And  far  surmounts  our  labor  to  attain  it. 

M.  Ha,  gracious  youth,  how  high  thy  glory  towers, 
When  the  rich  blood  of  kings  is  set  on  fire ! 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain  deny 
What  I  have  spoke ;  but  farewell  compliment. 
Doest  thou  love?     I  know  thou  wilt  say  aye, 
And  I  will  take  thy  word,  yet  if  thou  swear'st, 
Thou  mayst  prove  false :  at  lovers'  perjuries 
They  say  Jove  laugh'd.     O  gentle  Prince  of  Wales, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully. 

F.  B.  How  have  I  sworn? 

M.  '  Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  make  the  truth, 
But  the  plain,  single  vow,  that  is  vow'd  true : 
What  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by, 
But  take  the  Highest  to  witness ;  then  pray  you  tell  me, 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  loved  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths, 
When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?     This  has  no  holding 
To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love, 
That  I  will  work  against  him.     Therefore  your  oaths 
Are  words  and  poor  conditions,  but  unseal'd, 
At  least  in  my  opinion. 

F.  B.  Change  it,  change  it : 


928  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Be  not  so  holy  cruel.     Love  is  holy, 

And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts 

That  you  do  charge  men  with.     Stand  no  more  off, 

But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires, 

Who  then  recovers.     Say  thou  art  mine,  and  ever 

My  love  as  it  begins,  shall  so  persever. 

M.  Prince,  stand  thou  up,  thou  art  too  highly  mov'd^ 
Too  violently  carried ;  hear  me  speak : 
Thy  zeal  must  be  controll'd ;  rise,  sweet  boy,  rise ; 
'  Tis  for  thy  good  that  I  thee  thus  advise ; 
A  greater  power  than  we  denies  all  this. 
Wouldst  have  it  said  thou  temp'st  me  to  forsake 
Navarre,  my  King,  when  most  he  needs  my  help  ? 
And  are  they  not  by  God  accurs'd,  sweet  sir, 
That  sever  them  whom  He  hath  knit  in  one  ? 

F.  J3.  The  law  of  Heaven  will  not  lead  us  amiss : 
And  here  I  promise  and  protest  withal 
By  Styx,  by  Heaven's  power  imperial, 
By  all  that  'longs  to  Juno's  deity — 
Her  crown,  her  mace,  ensigns  of  majesty, 
Her  spotless  marriage  rites,  her  league  divine — 
To  stand  in  this  unto  your  final  judgment. 

M.  It  resteth  then  that  thou  be  well  content. 
How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love, 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion ! 

F.  B.  But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

M.  What  need  y  bridge  much  broader  than  the  stream? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity ; 
Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit ;  but  oh !  my  Prince, 
Fear  thou  this  tyrannous  passion,  more  alas, 
Than  e'en  my  life.     I  do  beseech  thee,  hear  me ; 


At  the  Court  of  France.  929 

Thou  who  professest  thyself  my  loyal  servant, 
My  most  obedient  counselor  and  friend, 
And  who  dost  undertake  to  be  my  advocate, 
Must  keep  a  gracious  and  innocent  soul, — 
,The  silence  of  pure  innocence  persuades, 
Where  speaking  fails.     Think  not,  dear  boy,  of  love; 
Love  must  have  ease — 'twere  inconvenient  now, 
A  fardel,  an  impediment,    sweet  sir. 
Thou  shalt  to  London  presently,  and  I 
Far  from  the  great  metropolis  will  be. 
The  farther  from  the  court  I  were  remov'd, 
The  more,  I  think,  of  Heaven  I  were  belov'd, 
Because  the  court  is  'counted  Venus'  net, 
Where  gifts  and  vows  for  stales  are  often  set; 
None  but  the  chaste  as  Vesta,  but  shall  meet 
A  curious  tongue  to  charm  her  ears  with  sweet ; 
I  'count  of  court,  my  Prince,  as  wise  men  do, 
'Tis  fit  for  those  that  know  what  'longs  thereto. 
You  look  not  pleas'd ;  what  doth  this  silence  bode  ? 
Now  fear  and  love  have  tied  thy  ready  tongue. 
From  blabbing  forth  the  passions  of  thy  mind. 

F.  B.  Why,  Margaret,  I  see  you  set  at  nought 
The  force  of  love. 

M.  In  sooth,  this  is  my  thought. 
Most  gracious  Prince,  that  they  that  little  prove, 
Are  mickle  blest  from  bitter-sweets  of  love ; 
And  well  I  wot  I  heard  a  shepherd  sing, 
That  like  a  bee,  love  hath  a  little  sting : 
He  lurks  in  flowers,  he  percheth  on  the  trees, 
He  on  kings'  pillows  bends  his  pretty  knees ; 
The  boy  is  blind,  but  when  he  will  not  spy, 
He  hath  a  leaden  foot  and  wings  to  fly. 


930  Sir  l''rtn«-ix  B(tc<>na  Life 

F.  B.  You  cannot  choose  but  cast  some  gift  apart, 
Although  I  see  you'll  part  but  with  light  gifts, 
As  may  the  queen  of  love  to  any  lover  give ; 
In  weightier  things  you'll  say  a  beggar  nay. 

M.  Love  is  too  weighty  for  thy  youth  to  wear. 

F.  B.  I  weigh  it  lightly ;  were  it  heavier ! 

M.  Lightly?  aha!  that's  idle,  little  lord. ' 

F.  B.  I  would  that  I  might  thank  you  as  you  call  me. 

M.  How? 

F.  B.  Little. 

M.  Ha !  ha !  an  it  pleases  not  ? 

F.  B.  Methinks  you  mock  me ;  I  am  not  a  child ! 
Why  taunt  and  scorn  me  thus  opprobriously  ? 

M.  I  have  not  seen  a  more  alluring  boy. 
Proportion'd  as  was  Paris,  when  in  gray 
He  courted  Enon  in  the  vale  of  Troy. 
Great  lords  have  come  and  pleaded  for  my  love, 
But  thou,  sweet  youth,  art  England's  only  flower, 
The  royal  tree  hath  left  us  royal  fruit, 
Which  mellow'd  by  the  stealing  hours  of  time, 
Will  well  become  the  seat  of  majesty. 
But  ere  the  crown  thou  lookst  for  live  in  peace, 
Ten-thousand  bloody  crowns  of  mothers'  sons 
Shall  ill  become  the  flower  of  England's  face, 
Change  the  complexion  of  her  maid-pale  peace 
To  scarlet  indignation,  and  bedew 
Her  pasture's  grass  with  faithful  English  blood. 
'Tis  true  thy  blood  had  been  the  dearer  then, 
By  I  know  not  how  much  an  ounce,  but  I 
Should  miss  the  matter  that  my  mind  aims  at. 

F.  B.  What  star  was  opposite  when  that  was  thought  ? 
It  you  becomes  not  well,  O  glorious  Queen. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  931 

This  declaration  shall  become,  in  time, 
An  overture  of  marriage ;  this  diamond 
Shall  be  the  token :  it  was  my  mother's, — 
Take  it,  dear  heart,  but  keep  it  till  I  woo  you 
When  he,  your  dearest  husband  is  no  more. 

M.  May  he  live  longer  than  I've  time  to  tell  his  years. 
These  times  of  woe  afford  no  time  to  woo. 

"  Her  words  did  tell  me  nothing  of  her  heart, 
But  when  she  bent  on  me  the  light  of  her  sweet  eyes, 
They  gave  to  me  good  leave  to  speak  again. 

F.  B.  Sweet  Queen,  myself,  and  all  on  earth  I  have 
Or  hope  to  have,  I  give  you  with  this  ring, 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away, 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love, 
And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 
Receive  it,  Margaret,  as  my  gift  to  you. 

M,  Keceive  it  ?     No,  these  innocent  hands  of  mine, 
Shall  not  be  guilty  of  so  foul  a  crime. 

"  And  yet,  and  yet,  those  lovely  'wildering  eyes 
Say  not  the  same,  and  her  soft  snowy  hand, 
Resting  in  mine  accepts  the  proffer'd  ring. 
I  am  afear'd  all  this  is  but  a  dream, 
Too  flattering  sweet  to  be  substantial ; 
Dreams  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain, 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  phantasie, 
Which  is  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air, 
And  more  inconstant  than  tbe  wind,  who  wooes 
Even  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  North, 
And  being  anger'd  puffs  away  from  thence, 
Turning  his  side  to'  the  dew-dropping  South. 

0  do  I  dream?  or  have  I  dream'd  till  now? 

1  do  not  sleep !    I  see,  I  hear,  I  speak, — 


932  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  jB.  Put  off  thy  blushes,  Margaret,  and  avouch 
The  thoughts  o'  thy  heart  with  looks  of  an  empress. 
Take  me  by  th'  hand  and  say,  '  Francis  of  'England, 
I  am  thine.' 

M.  Nay,  nay,  press  me  not  now :    another  time  I'll 
say  't. 

F.  B.  Now  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour, 
Grant  me  thy  love. 

M.  A  time  methinks  too  short 
To  make  a  world-without-end  bargain  in. 

F.  B.  Say  but '  I  love  thee.' 

M.  Nay,  I  dare  not, — yet 

What  my  tongue  dares  not,  that  my  heart  shall  say. 
Your  pardon,  sir,  for  this.     I'll  blush  my  thanks. 

F.  B.  Farewell,  farewell ;  one  kiss  and  I'll  descend. 

M,  Art  thou  gone  so?  love,  lord,  husband,  friend, 
I  must  hear  from  thee  every  day  in  the  hour, 
For  in  a  minute  there  are  many  days. 
O  by  this  count,  I  shall  be  much  in  years, 
Ere  I  again  behold  my  gentle  Prince. 
Tell  me  where  hast  thou  been  this  long  month  past  ? 

F.  B.  'Tis  but  two  days,  my  Margaret,  my  Queen. 

M.  How  poorly  art  thou  school'd,  ungracious  boy  ? 
Fie,  fie,  away !  ne'er  look  on  me  again. 
Where  are  your  thoughts  wide  wandering,  my  lord  ? 
The  crescent  moon  hath  wax'd  into  the  full, 
And  then  again  worn  to  a  slender  thread, 
Since  thou  didst  press  my  lips  with  that  sweet  kiss. 
Art  thou  so  poor  that  thou  hast  only  one? 
Ah !  poor  my  lord,  how  nearly  art  thou  beggar'd ! 

F.  B.  Farewell,  farewell ;  lend  me  thy  honey'd  lips 
again. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  933 

M.  Let  me  unkiss  the  oath  'twixt  th.ee  and  me, — 
And  yet  not  so,  for  with  a  kiss  'twas  made. 
I've  pledg'd  my  truth  and  lasting  fealty — 
It  is  no  more  than  my  poor  life  must  answer — 
And  ever  will  I  be  your  faithful  servant. 

F.  B.  My  mistress,  dearest,  and  I  thus  humble  ever. 

M.  My  husband  then  ? 

F.  B.  Aye,  with  a  heart  as  willing, 
As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom  :  here's  my  hand. 

M.  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in't ;    and  now  farewell 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

F-  B.  A  thousand,  thousand 
Fondest  farewells  ;  sweet  Margaret,  be  true ! 

M.  Stay: 
I  prithee,  tell  me  what  thou  think'st  of  me. 

F.  B.  That  you  do  think  you  are  not  what  you  are. 

M.  If  I  think  so,  I  think  the  same  of  you. 

F.  B.  Then  think  you  right ;  I  am  not  what  I  am. 

M.  I  would  you  were,  as  I  would  have  you  be. 

F.  B.  Would  it  be'better,  madam,  than  I  am? 
I  wish  it  might,  for  now  I  am  your  fool. 
Once  more  farewell,  sweetest  of  Margarets, 
And  keep  you  up  good  heart.     I  will  return 
When  I,  my  love,  have  cull'd  such  necessaries, 
As  are  behooveful  for  our  state  to-morrow, 
For  yet  ere  supper  time,  must  I  perform 
Much  business  appertaining.     For  these  two  hours, 
Margaret,  I  will  leave  thee. 

M.  Alas,  dear  love,  I  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

F.  B.  I  must  attend  to  many  hundred  things — 
The  clock  upbraids  me  with  the  waste  of  time — 
Bv  two  o'clock  I'll  be  with  thee  again  : 


934  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

But  now  I'll  go,  this  business  asketh  haste. 
Pray  let  the  nurse  this  night  sit  up  with  you, 
For  I  am  sure  you  have  your  hands  full  all, 
In  this  so  sudden  business. 

M.  Nay,  nurse  must  leave  me  to  myself  to-night : 
For  I  have  need  of  many  orisons, 
To  move  the  heavens  to  smile  upon  my  state, 
Which  well  thou  know'st  is  cross  and  full  of  sin. 
God  shield  me,  hapless  princess  and  a  wife. 

"  Ere  I  could  give  to  her  the  parting  kiss, 
That  I  had  set  betwixt  two  charming  words, 
I  heard  the  footsteps  of  Queen  Catherine. 

M.  Yond'  comes  my  wary  mother ;  Francis,  go. 
F.  B.  And  must  we  be  divided  ?  must  we  part  ? 
M.  Aye,  hand  from  hand,  my  love,  and  heart  from 

heart ! 
F.  B.  Then  fare-thee-well. 

"  At  that  same  instant  came 
The  maid,  or  nurse,  that  waits  upon  the  Queen, — 

Nurse.  Madam,  your  mother  craves  a  word  with  you. ' 
"  Then  she  did  follow  me  and  say  : — 

Nur.  Pray  you  a  word ; 
My  mistress  bids  me  say  I'll  go  with  you 
An'  you  do  need  my  help. 

F.  B.  No,  no,  not  now,  but  come  this  afternoon 
And  stay  thou,  good  nurse,  behind  the  abbey  wall ; 
Within  this  hour  my  man  shall  be  with  thee. 
And  bring  thee  cords  made  like  a  tackled  stair, 
Which  to  the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy, 


At  the  Court  of  /-'/v///rr.  935 

Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  night. 

Nur.  How  shall  I  best  convey  the  ladder  thither  ? 

F.  B.  It  will  be  light,  good  nurse,  that  you  may  bear  it 
Under  a  cloak,  that  is  of  any  length. 

Nur.  A  cloak  as  long  as  thine  will  serve  the  turn  ? 

F.  B.  Aye,  my  good  nurse. 

Nur.  Then  let  me  see  thy  cloak, 
I'll  get  me  one  of  such  another  length. 

F.  B.  Why  any  cloak  will  serve  the  turn,  woman. 

Nur.  How  shall  I  fashion  me  to  wear  a  cloak  ? 
1  pray  thee  let  me  feel  thy  cloak  upon  me. 

F.  B.  Ah  nurse,  ah  nurse,  thou  art  a  jolly  beggar; 
Take  it  and  go,  but  mind  you  of  the  hour. 
Farewell,  be  trusty  and  Til  'quite  thy  pains : 
Farewell ;  commend  me  to  thy  mistress. 

Nur.  Now  God  in  heaven  bless  thee :  hark  you,  sir ! 

F.  B.  What  sayst  thou  my  dear  nurse  ? 

Nur.  Is  your  man  secret  ?    Did  you  ne'er  hear  say 
Two  may  keep  counsel  putting  one  away  ? 

F.  B.  Warrant  thee  my  man  as  true  as  steel. 

Nur.  Well,  sir,  my  mistress  is  the  sweetest  lady. 
Lord,  lord,  when  'twas  a  little  prating  thing — 

F.  B.  Aye,  aye,  good  nurse  ;  commend  me  to  thy  lady. 

Nur.  Aye,  a  thousand  times. 


"  Then  as  I  go,  I  muse  and  count  my  way  with  sighs. 
Now  old  desire  doth  in  his  death-bed  lie, 
And  young  affection  gapes  to  be  his  heir. 
There  is  betwixt  that  smile  I  would  aspire  to, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have ! 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  wooed ; 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  won : 


936  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

And  she  is  Margaret,  therefore  must  be  lov'd. 

But  she  is  now  the  wife  of  brave  Navarre — 

"Tis  true,  Navarre  may  chance  repent  she  was  his  wife- 

And  by  this  marriage  all  men  thought  to  see 

The  King  and  he  forever  knit  together. 

If  I  were  bound  to  divine  of  this  unity, 

I  would  not  prophesy  so,  for  I  think 

The  policy  of  that  purpose  made  more 

In  the  marriage  than  the  love  of  the  parties ; 

The  tale  is  not  yet  told — the  end  not  yet ! 

But  since  she  'scapes  by  flight  to  save  her  life, 

The  rest  is  ruthful,  yet  t'  beguile  the  time 

'  Tis  interlac'd  with  merriment  and  rhyme. 

"  The  morn  doth  shine  in  beauty  fresh  and  sheen, 
Like  to  the  peerless  dame  whom  I  adore, 

The  world's  sole  glory  and  her  sex's  grace : 

She's  still  the  rose — her  beauties  wax  not  dead : 

She's  fair  (and  virtuous  I  make  no  doubt). 

I  would  abate  her  nothing  though  I  do  profess 

Myself  but  her  adorer,  not  her  friend ; 

This  shall  assure  my  constant  loyalty, 

And  I  will  love  her  everlastingly. 

I  am  as  constant  as  the  Northern  star 

Of  whose  true-fixt  and  resting  quality. 

There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 

The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumber'd  sparks, 

They  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine ; 

But  there's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place : 

So,  in  the  world, — 'tis  furnish'd  well  with  men, 

And  men  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  apprehensive ; 

Yet  in  the  number  I  do  know  but  one, 

That  unassailable  holds  on  his  rank, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  937 

Unshak'd  of  motion :  and  that  I  am  he, 

Let  me  a  little  show  it,  even  in  this, — 

That  I  am  constant  in  my  love  to  her, 

And  so  remain  whatever  she  may  do. 

True  swains  in  love,  shall  in  the  world  to  come 

Approve  their  truths  by  Francis  :  when  their  rhymes, 

Full  of  protest,  of  oath,  and  big  compare, 

Want  similes,  truth  tired  with  iteration, — 

As  true  as  steel,  as  plantage  to  the  moon, 

As  sun  to  day,  as  turtle  to  her  mate, 

As  iron  to  adamant,  as  earth  to  th'  center, — 

Yet,  after  all  comparisons  of  truth, 

As  truth's  authentic  author  to  be  cited, 

As  true  as  Francis,  shall  crown  up  the  verse 

And  sanctify  the  numbers. 

"  She's  noble  born ; 
And  like  her  true  nobility,  she  has 
Carried  herself  toward  me  most  graciously. 
Yet  she  is  proud  withal :  this  is  a  creature, 
Would  she  begin  a  sect,  might  quench  the  zeal 
Of  all  professors  else ;  make  proselytes 
Of  who  she  but  bid  follow, — women  and  men. 
Women  will  love  her,  that  she  is  a  woman 
More  worth  than  any  man :  men,  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women.     I  recall  a  time 
When  at  the  banquet  Henry  rated  her. 
These  were  her  words  utter'd  with  mild  disdain  : — 

'My  lords,  before  it  pleas'd  his  majesty 
To  raise  my  state  to  title  of  a  queen, 
Do  me  but  right,  and  you  must  all  confess 
That  I  was  not  ignoble  of  descent ; 
For  am  I  not  the  daughter  of  a  king  ? 


938  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

The  daughter  of  the  bravest  king  of  France  ? ' 

"  I  blame  not  her  she  could  say  little  less : 
She  had  the  wrong  but  they  did  make  reply : — 

'  Nay  if  thou  be  that  princely  eagle's  bird, 
Show  thy  descent  by  gazing  'gainst  the  sun. 

"  Her  answer  was  a  prophecy  for  thus  she  spake  :- 

'  Dazzle  mine  eyes,  or  do  I  see  three  suns  ? 
Three  glorious  suns  each  one  a  perfect  sun, 
Not  separated  with  the  racking  clouds, 
But  sever'd  in  a  pale,  clear-shining  sky. 
See,  see,  they  join,  embrace,  and  seem  to  kiss, 
As  if  they  vow'd  some  league  inviolable. 
Now  are  they  but  one  lamp,  one  light,  one  sun : 
In  this  the  heaven  figures  some  event. 
'Tis  wondrous  strange,  the  like  yet  never  heard  of! ' 

"  If  1  may  trust  the  flattering  truth  of  sleep, 
My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand : 
My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  in  his  throne ; 
And  all  this  day  an  unaccustom'd  spirit, 
Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts. 
I  dreamt  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead, 
(Strange  dream  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  to  think) 
And  breath'd  such  life  with  kisses  in  my  lips, 
That  I  reviv'd  and  was  an  emperor. 
Ah  me,  how  sweet  is  love  itself  possest, 
When  but  love's  shadows  are  so  rich  in  joy. 

"  I  cannot  rest :  I  stalk  about  her  door 
Like  a  strange  soul  upon  the  Stygian  banks 
Staying  for  waftage.  Ha !  there  is  her  nurse ! 


At  the  Court  of  France.  939 

F.  B.  God  speed,  fair  nurse,  whither  so  fast  away  ? 

Nur.  Call  you  me  fair  ?     That  fair  again  unsay. 

F.  B.  Happily  met,  O  be  thou  my  Charon, 
And  give  me  swift  transportance  to  those  fields, 
Proposed  for  the  deserver.     O  gentle  nurse, 
From  Cupid's  shoulder  pluck  his  painted  wings 
And  fly  writh  me  to  Margaret. 

Nur.  Walk  here  i'  th'  orchard,  I  will  bring  her  straight. 
She's  making  her  ready,  she'll  come  to  thee ; 
You  must  be  witty  now,  she  does  so  blush 
And  fetches  her  wind  so  short  as  if  she  were 
Fraid  with  a  sprite :  i'  faith,  my  lord,  she  fetches   • 
Her  breath  so  short  as  a  new  ta'en  sparrow. 
I'll  fetch  her  sir. 

F.  B.  No,  take  this  letter  to  thy  mistress  rather. 
'  Twere  better  she  come  not  to  meet  me  now. 
Hie,  make  you  haste,  make  haste,  make  haste  I  say, 
For  we  must  leave  the  town  ere  it  is  day. 

Nur.  There's  time  enough. 

F.  B.  Nay,  gentle  nurse,  not  so.     Go,  go,  I  pray, 
And  tell  thy  mistress  I'll  be  there  straightway, 
When  night  her  curtain  draws.     Now  get  thee  gone : 
Hie  you,  make  haste  for  it  grows  very  late ! 
And  dearest  nurse,  upon  thy  life  I  charge  thee, 
Whate'er  thou  hear'st  or  seest,  stand  all  aloof, 
And  do  not  interrupt  me  in  my  course. 


"  Now  am  I  arm'd  against  the  worst  can  happen ; 
And  haste  is  needful  in  this  desperate  case. 
My  heart  is  wondrous  light !     Why  do  I  weep  ? 
Back,  foolish  tears,  back  to  your  native  spring ; 
Your  tributary  drops  belong  to  woe, 


940  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Lij< 

Which  you  mistaking,  offer  up  to  joy. 

Whether  it  be  through  force  of  your  report, 

My  beauteous  Margaret,  or  for  that 

My  tender  youth  was  never  yet  attaint 

With  any  passion  of  inflaming  love, 

I  cannot  tell :  but  this  I  am  assur'd, 

I  feel  such  sharp  dissension  in  my  breast, 

Such  fierce  alarums  both  of  hope  and  fear, 

As  I  am  sick  with  working  of  my  thoughts. 

I  am  giddy !   expectation  whirls  me  round  : 

Th'  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet, 

That  it  -enchants  my  sense :  what  will  it  be 

When  that  the  wat'ry  palates  taste  indeed 

Love's  thrice  reputed  nectar  ?     Death,  I  fear  me, 

Sounding  destruction,  or  some  joy  too  fine, 

Too  subtile,  potent,  and  to  sharp  in  sweetness, 

For  the  capacity  of  my  ruder  powers ; 

I  fear  it  much,  and  I  do  fear  besides 

That  I  shall  lose  distinction  in  my  joys, 

As  doth  a  battle  when  they  charge  on  heaps 

The  enemy  flying.     O  I'm  Fortune's  fool, 

Her  very  plaything !  for  my  mind  misgives, 

Some  consequence  yet  hanging  in  the  stars, 

Shall  bitterly  begin  this  fearful  date 

With  this  night's  revels,  and  expire  the  term 

Of  a  despised  life  clos'd  in  my  breast, 

By  some  vile  forfeit  of  untimely  death. 

Uneven  is  the  course,  I  like  it  not. 

"  Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 
Towards  Phoebus'  lodging ;  such  a  wagoner 
As  Phaeton  would  whip  you  to  the  west, 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  941 

Spread  thy  close  curtain  love-performing  Night, 

That  run-away's  eyes  may  wink.     Come  civil  Night, 

Leaden- wing'd  Night!     So  tedious  is  this  day, 

As  is  the  night  before  some  festival, 

To  an  impatient  child  that  has  new  robes 

And  may  not  wear  them.     Come,  O  come  sweet  Night, 

Dear  dusky  Night,  in  rusty  iron  car ; 

Between  you  both  shorten  the  time  I  pray 

But  let  still  silence  true  night-watches  keep, 

That  sacred  peace  may  in  assurance  reign. 

"  I  long'd  to  go  where  I  could  note  the  sea, 
Where  Phoebus  dips  his  amber  tresses  oft 
And  kisses  Thetis  in  the  day's  decline. 
The  hours  were  leaden  pac'd  and  slow  as  age, 
Yet  never  day  so  long  but  late  would  pass. 
This  one  wore  out  at  last,  and  when  the  night 
Her  silver  lamps  hung  in  the  vault  of  heaven, 
Scaling  the  ladder,  quaintly  made  of  cords, 
And  cast  up  with  a  pair  of  anchoring  hooks, 
With  step  more  light  than  mariner's  I  came 
Unto  that  lofty  riest,  and  bade  the  nurse 
Go  waken  Margaret,  and  trim  her  up, 
(Some  minutes  ere  the  time  of  her  awaking). 
I  heard  her  softly  say  unto  my  love : — 

'  Awake,  dear  heart,  awake,  thou  hast  slept  well, 
Awake ! '     Methought  the  office  should  be  mine 
So  tenderly  to  speak,  and  I  drew  near ; 
My  Margaret  still  slept,  but  at  the  sound 
Of  my  too  eager  footfall  on  the  floor, 
She  spake,  and  I  entreated  her  come  forth. 

'  Soft,  take  me  with  thee,  take  me  with  thee,  Prince,' 
She  whispered  ere  her  sweet  eyes  did  ope, 
But  when  she  saw  my  face  she  quickly  askt :— 


942  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

M.  How  cam'st  thou  hither !  tell  me,  and  wherefore  ? 
The  orchard  walls  are  high  and  hard  to  climb, 
And  the  place,  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here. 

F.  B.  With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'erperch  these 

walls, 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out. 

M,  I  would  not  for  the  world  they  saw  thee  here. 

F.  B.  I  have  Night's  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their  eyes, 
And  but  thou  love  me,  let  them  find  me  here ; 
My  life  were  better  ended  by  their  hate, 
Than  death  prorogued  wanting  of  thy  love. 

Jf.  By  whose  direction  found'st  thou  out  this  place  ? 

F.  B.  By  love  that  first  did  prompt  me  to  enquire, 
He  lent  me  counsel  and  I  lent  him  eyes ; 
I  am  no  pilot,  yet  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  washt  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  should  adventure  for  such  merchandise, 
My  own  sweet  Margart. 

M.  If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully : 
Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
I'll  frown  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay, 
So  thou  wilt  woo :  but  else  not  for  the  world. 
In  truth,  fair  Prince  of  Wales,  I  am  too  fond : 
But  trust  me  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true, 
Than  those  that  have  coying  to  be  strange ; 
I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  must  confess, 
But  that  thou  overheard'st  ere  I  was  ware 
My  true  love's  passion,  therefore  pardon  me, 
And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love, 
Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered. 

F.  B.  Lady,  by  yonder  moon  I  vow, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  943 

That  tips  with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops. 

M.  0  swear  not  by  the  moon,  tlr  inconstant  moon, 
That  monthly  changes  in  her  circled  orb, 
Least  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 

F.  B.  What  shall  I  swear  by  ? 

M.  Do  not  swear  at  all : 
Or  if  thou  wilt  swear  by  thy  gracious  self, 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry, 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 

F.  B.  If  my  heart's  dear  love — 

M.  Well  do  not  swear,  although  I  joy  in  thee : 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night, 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvis'd,  too  sudden, 
Too  like  the  lightning  which  doth  cease  to  be 
Ere  one  can  say,  it  lightens.     Sweet,  good-night : 
This  bud  of  love  by  summer's  ripening  breath, 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet : 
Goodnight,  goodnight,  as  sweet  repose  and  rest, 
Come  to  thy  heart,  as  that  within  my  breast. 

F.  B.  O  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied  ? 

M.  What  satisfaction  can'st  thou  have  to-night? 

F-  B,  Th'  exchange  of   thy  love's  faithful  vow  for 
mine. 

M.  I  gave  thee  mine  before  thou  did'st  request  it : 
And  yet  I  would  it  were  to  give  again. 

F.  B.  Would'st  thou  withdraw  it, 
For  what  purpose  love  ? 

M.  But  to  be  frank  and  give  it  thee  again, 
And  yet  I  wish  but  for  the  thing  I  have, 
My  bounty  is  as  boundless  as  the  sea, 
My  love  as  deep,  the  more  I  give  to  thee 
The  more  I  have,  for  both  are  infinite : 


944  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

I  hear  some  noise  within,  dear  love,  adieu  : 

Within:    Madam ! 

(I  come  anon :)  but  if  thou  mean'st  not  well, 
I  do  beseech  thee —  Within:    Madam ! 

(By  and  by  I  come) — 

To  cease  thy  strife,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief. 
To-morrow  will  I  send. 

F.  B.  So  thrive  my  soul. 

M.  Francis. 

F.  B,  It  is  my  soul  that  calls  upon  my  name. 
How  silver  sweet,  sound  lovers'  tongues  by  night, 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears. 

M.  Francis. 

F.  B.  Margaret. 

M.  What  o'clock  to-morrow 
Shall  I  send  to  thee  ? 

F.  B.  By  the  hour  of  nine. 

M.  I  will  not  fail,  'tis  twenty  years  till  then. 

"  She  holds  some  converse 

Aside  with  her  good  nurse,  then  conies  she  to  me 
And  (with  wild  looks)  bids  me  devise  some  means 
To  rid  her  from  this  second  marriage  vow. 
Now  am  I  dumb,  but  nurse  grown  sudden  bold 
Interposes  : — 

JVur.  Beshrew  my  very  heart 
I  think  you  are  happy  in  this  second  match, 
For  it  excels  your  first :  or  if  it  did  not, 
Your  first  is  dead,  or  'twere  as  good  he  were, 
As  living  here  and  you  no  use  of  him. 
Words,  vows,  gifts,  tears,  and  love's  full  sacrifice, 
He  offers  in  another  enterprise. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  945 

"  But  Margaret  vouchsafes  her  no  reply. 
Immoderately  she  weeps, — I  count  it  dangerous 
That  she  should  give  her  sorrows  so  much  sway, — 
And  therefore  have  I  little  talk  of  love, 
For  Venus  smiles  not  in  a  house  of  tears. 

F.  B.  Now  do  you  know  the  reason  of  this  haste? 

"  Quoth  I,  to  stop  the  inundation  of  her  tears, 
And  Margaret  answered  so  sadly  sweet : — 

M.  I  would  I  knew  not  why  it  should  be  slow'd. 

F.  B.  O  comfort  thee,  my  lady  and  my  wife — 

M.  That  may  be  sir,  when  I  may  be  a  wife. 

F.  B.  What  must  be  shall  be. 

M.  That's  a  certain  text. 
Hold,  Francis,  I  do  spy  a'kind  of  hope, 
Which  craves  as  desperate  an  execution 
As  that  is  desperate  vThich  we  would  prevent ; 
But  much  I  fear  some  ill  unlucky  thing 
In  this  we  undertake.     Oh  bid  me  leap 
From  off  the  battlements  of  any  tower, 
Or  walk  in  thievish  ways,  or  bid  me  lurk 
Where  serpents  are,  chain  me  with  roaring  bears, 
Or  bid  me  go  into  a  new-made  grave, 
And  I  will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt, 
To  live  an  unstain'd  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 
She's  not  well  married,  that  lives  married  long, 
But  she's  best  married,  that  dies  married  young. 
Where  are  my  vows  I  made  unto  my  king? 
What  shall  become  of  me  if  I  prove  false? 
Ah,  wretched  man,  would  I  had  died  a  maid ! 

F.  B.  I  must  be  gone,  or  I  shall  be  distraught 
With  all  these  hideous  fears  and  rude  delays. 


946  Sir  Francis  Bacon'd  Lij<- 

Was  the  hope  drunk  wherein   you  drest  yourself? 
Hath  it  slept  since  ?  and  wakes  it  now  to  look 
So  green,  and  pale,  at  what  it  did  so  freely  ? 
From  this  time  forth,  such  I  account  thy  love. 
Art  thou  afeard,  in  thine  own  act  and  valor, 
To  be  the  same  as  thou  art  in  desire  ? 
'Tis  well,  I  will  be  gone. 

M,  Are  you  aweary  of  me  ? 

F.  B.  O  Margaret !  but  that  the  busy  day 
Wak'd  by  the  lark,  hath  rous'd  the  ribald  crows, 
And  dreaming  night  will  hide  our  eyes  no  longer, 
I  would  not  from  thee.     Now  I  must  be  gone. 

M.  Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  It  is  not  yet  near  day : 
It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierc'd  the  fearful  hollow  df  thine  ear, 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yond  pomegranate  tree : 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightirigale. 

F.  B.  It  w'as  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 
No  nightingale  :  look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east : 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops. 
We  must  away,  sweet  Margaret;  haste  thee,  haste! 

M.  Yond  light  is  not  daylight,  I  know  it  I : 
It  is  some  meteor  that  the  sun  exhales, 
To  be  to  thee  this  night  a  torch-bearer, 
And  light  thee  on  thy  way  unto  the  camp : 
Therefore  stay  yet, — thou  need'st  not  to  be  gone. 

F.  B.  Let  me  be  ta'en,  let  me  be  put  to  death, 
I  am  content  so  you  will  have  it  so. 
I'll  say  yon  gray  is  not  the  morning's  eye, 
'Tis  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia's  brow ; 


At  the  Court  of  France.  '.'17 

Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 

The  vaulty  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads ; 

I  have  more  care  to  stay  than  will  to  go : 

I  tly  not  death,  to  fly  his  deadly  doom, 

Tarry  I  here,  I  but  attend  on  death, 

But  fly  I  hence,  I  fly  away  from  life. 

Come,  death,  and  welcome !  Margaret  wills  it  so. 

How  is't  my  soul  ?  let's  talk, — it  is  not  day. 

M.  It  is,  it  is, — hie  hence,  begone,  away ! 
It  is  the  lark  that  sings  so  out  of  tune, 
Straining  harsh  discords  and  unpleasing  sharps. 
O  now  be  gone,  more  light  and  light  it  grows. 

F.  B.    More  light  and  light, — more  dark  and  dark 
our  woes. 

M.  Aye,  dark  our  woes,  dear  Francis !     Like  the  lily 
That  once  was  mistress  of  the  field  and  flourish'd 
I'll  hang  my  head  and  perish. 

"  Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  wooed? 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won? 
I'll  have  her  but  I  will  not  keep  her  long  : 
And  yet  to  win  her, — all  the  world  to  nothing  ! 

"  And  then  a  noise  did  scare  me  from  the  room, 
And  she  (too  desperate)  would  not  go  with  me. 
Then  since  the  case  so  stands  as  now  it  doth, 
And  things  have  fame  out  so  unluckily, 
I  now  am  banished  from  all  the  world  : 
If  thus  put  forth  from  her  society, 
There  is  no  >vorld  without  these  Paris  walls, 
But  purgatory,  torture,  hell  itself: 
Hence  banished  is  banisht  from  the  world. 
If  aught  in  this  miscarried  by  my  fault, 
Then  let  my  life  be  sacrific'd  before  the  tim<\ 


948  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

t 
F.  B.  What  mutterest  thou  nurse  ? 

"  And  then  she  said  in  my  unwilling  ear  : — 

NUT.  Guise  is  the  cause  that  Margaret  cannot  love. 
Nor  fix  her  liking  on  thee,  English  Prince. 
Take  him  away  and  then  the  effects  will  fail. 

F.  B.  Accurst  be  he !    I  cannot  stay  to  hear ! 
I  cannot  brook  competitors  in  love. 

Guise,  Guise,  how  hast  thou  injur'd  both  thyself  and  us. 
Thou'rt  like  a  foul  misshapen  stygmatick, 
(Fair  in  thy  body  but  deform'd  in  soul) 
Mark'd  by  the  destinies  to  be  avoided, 
As  venom  toads'  or  lizards'  dreadful  stings ! 
But  nurse,  wilt  thou  betray  thy  noble  mistress  thus  ? 
I  blush  to  think  upon  this  ignominy. 

Nur.  Ah,  sir !  ah,  sir ! 

F.  B.  Yet  Margaret,  base  Margaret, 
A  wisp  of  straw  were  worth  a  thousand  crowns, 
To  make  this  shameless  callet  know  herself: 
Helen  of  Greece  was  fairer  far  than  thou, 
Although  thy  husband  may  be  Menelaus ; 
And  ne'er,  was  Agamemnon's  brother  wrong'd 
By  that  false  woman,  as  this  king  by  thee ! 

Nur.  Ah,  sir !  ah,  ah,  sir ! 

F.  B.  Peace,  good  nurse,  go  in, 
And  tell  my  lady  I  am  gone,  or  that  I  stand 
Ready  to  go,  but  never  to  return. 

Nur.  -Go  get  thee  to  thy  love,  as  was  decreed, 
Ascend  her  chamber,  hence  and  comfort  her. 

F.  B.  Nay,  nay,  nurse,  say  not  so.  I'll  not  do  it. 
Love  give  me  strength,  and  strength  shall  help  afford  : 
Console  thou  me,  comfort  me,  counsel  me: 


At  the  Court  of  France.  949 

Alack,  alack,  that  Heaven  should  practice  stratagems, 
Upon  so  soft  a  subject  as  myself. 


"  O  Margaret,  my  love,  my  sweet,  sweet  love, 
Thou  hast  the  strength  of  will  to  slay  thyself, 
Then  is  it  likely  thou  wilt  undertake 
A  thing  like  death  to  chide  away  this  shame, 
That  cop'st  with  death  himself,  to  'scape  fro'  it. 

"  He  jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a  wound. 
But  soft,  what  light  through  yonder  window  breaks? 
It  is  the  east  and  Margaret  is  the  sun. 
Arise  fair  sun  and  kill  the  envious  moon, 
Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief, 
That  thou,  her  maid,  art  far  more  fair  than  she : 
Be  not  her  maid,  since  she  is  envious ; 
Her  vestal  liverie  is  but  sick  and  green, 
And  none  but  fools  do  wear  it,  cast  it  off: 
It  is  my  lady,  O  it  is  my  love, 
She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing,  what  of  that  ? 
Her  eye  discourses,  I  will  answer  it : 
I  am  too  bold,  'tis  not  to  me  she  speaks : 
Oh  speak  again  bright  angel,  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night  being  o'er  my  head, 
As  is  a  winged  messenger  of  heaven 
Unto  the  white  upturned  wondering  eyes 
Of  mortals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him, 
When  he  bestrides  the  lazy  puffing  clouds, 
And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 

u  Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 
What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  hend  ? 


950  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those  stars, 
As  daylight  doth  a  lamp ;  her  eye  in  heaven 
Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright, 
That  birds  would  sing,  and  think  it  were  not  night. 

"  With  tears  augmenting  the  fresh  morning's  dew, 
Adding  to  clouds,  more  clouds  with  my  deep  sighs, 
I  steal  into  the  covert  of  the  wood ; 
But  all  so  soon  as  the  all-cheering  sun, 
Shall  in  the  farthest  east  begin  to  draw 
The  shady  curtains  from  Aurora's  bed, 
Away  from  light  I  will  steal  heavy  home, 
And  private  in  my  chamber  pen  myself, 
Shut  up  my  window,  lock  fair  daylight  out, 
And  make  myself  an  artificial  night. 
Aye  me,  sad  hours  seem  long !  and  yet,  what  is 
The  sadness  that  doth  lengthen  so  my  hours? 
Not  having  that,  which  having  makes  them  short. 


"  Westward  from  the  city's  side  so  early  walking, 
I  met  a  friar  long  well  known  to  me. 

F.  B.  Good  morrow,  father. 

Friar.  Benedicite  ! 

What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me  ? 
Young  son,  it  argues  a  distemper'd  head, 
So  soon  to  bid  good-morrow  to  thy  bed. 

F.  B.  It  is  the  breathing  time  of  day  with  me. 

Fri.  Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  old  man's  eye 
And  where  care  lodges,  sleep  will  never  lie : 
But  where  unbruised  youth  with  unstuft  brain, 
Doth  couch  his  limbs,  there  golden  sleep  doth  reign; 
Therefore  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure, 


.If     tin      Ciiiirl     nj     i'ruin-f.  951 


Tliou  art  uprous'd  \vitli  some  distemp'rature ; 

Affliction  is  enamour'd  of  thy  parts, 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity. 

Or  if  not  so,  then  here  I  hit  it  right 

Our  young  friend  hath  not  been  in  bed  to  night. 

F.  B.  That  last  is  true,  the  sweeter  rest  was  mine. 

F.  God  pardon  sin  :  wast  thou  with  Margaret,  son  ? 

F.  B.  With  Margaret,  my  ghostly  father?  no, — 
I  have  forgot  that  name,  and  that  name's  woe. 

Fri.  That's  my  good  son,  but  where  hast  thou  been 
then? 

F.  B.  I'll  tell  thee  ere  thou  ask  it  me  again. 

Fri.  Thou  dost  not  mark  me.     I  have  spoke  in  vain. 
Art  thou  in  love  ? 

F.  B.  Out. 

Fri.  Of  love  ? 

F.  B.  Out  of  her  favor  where  I  am  in  love. 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on,  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak :  she  cannot  love. 
Now  therefore  would  I  have  thee  to  my  tutor 
How,  and  which  way  I  may  bestow  myself 
To  be  regarded  in  her  sun-bright  eye. 

Fri.  Alas  that  love  so  gentle  in  his  view, 
Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proof. 

F.  B.  Alas  that  love,  whose  view  is  muffled  still, 
Should  without  eyes,  see  pathways  to  his  will. 

Fri.  Within  the  infant  rin'd  of  this  weak  flower, 
Poison  hath  residence,  and  medicine  power : 
For  this  being  smelt,  with  that  part  cheers  each  part, 
Being  tasted  slays  all  senses  with  the  heart. 


952  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Two  such  opposed  kings  encamp  them  still, 
In  man  as  well  as  herbs,  grace  and  rude  will : 
And  where  the  worser  is  predominant, 
Full  soon  the  canker  death  eats  up  that  plant. 

F.  B.  I  like  not  that!  I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest, 
A  minist'ring  angel  shall  that  fair  queen  be, 
When  thou  liest  howling. 

Fri.  What,  the  fair  Margaret  ? 

F.  B.  Aye,  my  good  lord. 

Fri.  An  earnest  prophecy; 
What  wilt  thou  do  for  her  ? 

F.  B.  What,  cursed  fiend?      The  devil  take  thy  soul. 

Fri.  Thou  pray'st  not  well. 

F.  B.  Thy  holy  office  shields  thee,  else  I'd  draw. 

Fri.  Nay,  save  thyself  to  fight  the  King,  her  brother: 
He  tenders  her  and  thou  must  answer  this 
Unto  his  royal  majesty,  I  ween. 

F.  B.  I  loved  Margaret :  forty-thousand  brothers, 
Could  not  (with  all  their  quantity  of  love) 
Make  up  my  sum.     Good  father  list  to  me  : 
Except  I  be  by  Margaret  in  the  night, 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale. 
Unless  I  look  on  Margaret  in  the  day, 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon. 
She  is  my  essence,  and  I  leave  to  thee, 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Foster'd,  illumin'd,  cherish'd,  kept  alive. 

Fri.  Fie,  fie,  thou  sham'st  thy  shape,  thy  love,  thy  wit : 
Thy  noble  shape  is  but  a  form  of  wax, 
Digressing  from  the  valor  of  a  man ; 
Thy  dear  love  sworn,  but  hollow  perjury, 
Killing  that  love  which  thou  hast  vow'd  to  cherish; 


At  the  Court  of  France.  953 

Thy  wit,  that  ornament  to  shape  and  love, 

Misshapen  in  the  conduct  of  them  both, 

Like  powder  in  a  skill-less  soldier's  flask, 

Is  set  afire  by  thine  own  ignorance, 

And  thou  dismembered  with  thine  own  defence. 

You  are  too  shallow,  Francis,  much  too  shallow 

To  sound  the  bottom  of  the  after-times. 

F.  B.  Amen,  amen,  but  come  what  sorrow  can, 
It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight. 

Fri.  I  tell  thee  this  for  thine  own  benefit, 
Not  that  I  think  you  did  not  love  the  lady, 
But  that  I  know  love  is  begun  by  time : 
And  I  do  see  in  passages  of  proof, 
Time  qualifies  the  spark  and  fire  of  it : 
And  true  it  is  that  when  the  oil  is  spent, 
The  light  goes  out — the  wick  is  thrown  away. 
Love  is  a  smoke  made  with  the  fume  of  sighs, 
Being  purg'd,  a  fire  sparkling  in  lovers'  eyes, 
Being  vex'd,  a  sea  nourish'd  with  loving  tears. 

F.  B.  What  is  it  else  ? 

Fri.  A  madness,  most  discreet, 
A  choking  gall  and  a  preserving  sweet, 
A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature ; 
Froward,  not  permanent;  sweet,  not  lasting. 
But  heed  me  well,  and  make  my  words  thy  guide, 
Let  not  thy  love  exceed  thine  honor,  son. 

F.  B.  You'ld  think  it  strange  if  I  should  marry  her? 

Fri.  That  would  be  ten  days'  wonder  at  the  least. 

F.  B.  That's  a  day  longer  than  a  wonder  lasts. 

Fri.  By  so  much  is  the  wonder  in  extremes. 
Great  men  record  within  their  learned  volumes, 


954  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

That  all  extremes  end  in  nought  but  extremes. 
But  my  bold  youth,  my  wisdom  bids  me  say, 
Though  true  as  truth,  though  daughter  of  a  king, 
Though  fair  as  ever  living  wight  was  fair, 
Though  nor  in  deed  nor  word  ill-meriting, 
This  were  a  match  unmeet.     She  is  too  old. 

F.  B.  Too  old  ?  by  heaven— 

Fri.  Let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herself,  so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she. level  to  her  husband's  heart: 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn 
Than  women's  are. 

Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself, 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent : 
For  women  are  as  roses,  whose  fair  flower 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

F.  B.  Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  variety :  other  women  cloy 
The  appetites  they  feed,  but  she  makes  hungry, 
When  most  she  satisfies.     O  holy  priest, 
Do  you  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  words, 
Then  love  devouring  death  do  what  he  dare, 
It  is  enough,  I  may  but  call  her  mine. 

Fri.  These  violent  delights  have  violent  ends, 
And  in  their  triumph  die  like  fire  and  powder, 
Which  as  they  kiss,  consume.     The  sweetest  honey 
Is  loathsome  in  his  own  deliciousness, 
Therefore  love  moderately,  long  love  doth  so, 
Too  swift  arrives  as  tardy  as  too  slow 

F.  B.  Or  swift  or  slow  I've  reach'd  the  goal,  good  Friar 


At  the  Court  of  France.  955 

I've  read  my  future  in  the  lady's  face — 
Joy  had  the  like  conception  in  our  eyes 
And  at  that  instant,  like  a  babe  sprang  up. 

Fri.  Then  I'll  not  say  again  she  is  too  old, 
But  thou'rt  too  young,  nor  is  she  free  to  wed  ; 
If  from  her  lord  divorced  she  shall  be, 
And  his  due  love's  deriv'd  unto  thy  share, 
From  hope  of  heaven  thou'lt  be  excluded  ever. 
Thou  most  unruly,  most  bold-faced  boy, 
The  root  of  all  wrath  and  despite  dost  occasion, 
Since  thou  obey'st  these  rebel  passions 
When  they  contend  against  thy  conscience. 

F.  B.  I'm  nought  thereat  dismay'd.  my  father. 
No  jot  of  power  hath  this  to  change  our  loves ; 
If  she  will  but  be  my  own  Margaret, 
When  th'  laws  of  England  are  at  my  commandment, 
England  and  England's  wealth  shall  wait  on  her, 
And  Britain  bend  unto  her  Prince's  love. 

Fri.  'Tis  most  unnatural,  most  strange,  my  son. 

F.  B.  Darest  thou  check  me  so,  presumptuous  priest  ? 
Or  twit  me  with  the  laws  that  Nature  loves — 
Nature  that  fram'd  us  o'  th'  four  elements? 
Are  not  the  great,  above  this  Nature's  reach  ? 
What  better  precedent  than  mighty  Jove  ? 
I'll  make  it  lawful,  and  when  we  are  dead, 
I'll  seek  the  rod  of  valiant  Mercury, 
With  which  he  wont  the  Stygian  realms  invade, 
Through  ghastly  horror  and  eternal  shade, 
Of  the  infernal  field,  beneath  the  earth, 
( With  it  he  can  assuage  a  sudden  fear, 
And  Orcus  tame  whom  nothing  can  persuade, 
And  rule  the  furies  when  they  most  do  rave) 


956  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

That  I  might  look  upon  my  Queen's  full  eyes, 
And  treasure  take  from  her  sweet  ruby  lips. 

Fri.  There  mayst  thou  see  one  fairer  than  thy  love. 

F.  B.  One  fairer  than  my  love?  the  all-seeing  sun 
Ne'er  saw  her  match  since  first  the  world  begun. 

Fri.  Tut,  you  saw  her  fair,  none  else  being  by, 
Herself  pois'd  with  herself  in  either  eye : 
But  in  that  crystal  scales,  let  there  be  weighed 
Your  lady-love  against  some  other  maid, 
And  she  shall  scant  show  well  that  now  shows  best. 
Compare  her  face  with  some  that  I  shall  show, 
And  I  will  make  thee  think  thy  swan  a  crow. 

F.  B.  When  the  devout  religion  of  my  eye 
Maintains  such  falsehood,  then  turn  tears  to  fire ; 
And  these  who  often  drown'd  could  never  die, 
Transparent  heretiques,  be  burnt  for  liars. 
Think'st  thou  my  thoughts  are  lunacies  of  love  ? 

Fri.  Are  lunacies  of  love  ?     Oh  no !  not  so. 
'Twas  but  a  bolt  of  nothing,  shot  at  nothing, 
Which  the  brain  makes  of  fumes. 

F.  B.  No,  they  are  brands Jired  in  Pluto's  forge, 
Where  sits  Tisiphone  tempering  in  flames, 
Those  torches  j;hat  do  set  on  fire  revenge. 
I  lov'd  the  dame ;  but  brav'd  by  her  repulse 
Hate  calls  me  on  to  quittance  of  my  ills, 
Which  first  must  come  by  offering  prejudice 
Unto  the  Duke  of  Guise  her  belov'd  love. 
Her  beauty's  exquisite,  her  favor  infinite. 

Fri.  That's  because  the  one  is  painted,  and  the  other 
Out  of  all  count. 

F.  B.  How  painted?  and  how  out  of  count? 

Fri.  Marry  sir,  so  painted  to  make  her  fair, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  957 

That  no  man  doth  account  of  her  beauty. 
You  never  saw  her  since  she  was  deform'd. 

F.  B.  How  long  hath  she  been  deform'd  ? 

Fri.  Ever  since  you  lov'd  her. 

F,  B.  I  have  lov'd  her  ever  since  I  saw  her, 
And  still  I  see  her  beautiful. 

Fri.  If  you  love  her,  you  cannot  see  her. 

F.  B.  Why? 

Fri.  Because   that   love    is    blind :    O  that  you  had 

mine  eyes, 

Or  your  own  had  the  lights  they  were  wont  to  have. 
Our  very  eyes  are  sometimes,  like  our  judgments,  blind. 

F.  B.  Mine  eyes  were  not  in  fault  for  she  is  beautiful : 
Mine  ears  that  hear  her  flattery,  nor  my  heart, 
That  thought  her  like  her  seeming.      It  had  been  vicious 
To  have  mistrusted  her. 

Fri.  Well,  come  young  waverer,  come  go  with  me, 
In  one  respect,  I'll  thine  assistant  be. 

F.  B.  Believe  me,  father,  I  have  a  sole  of  lead 
So  stakes  me  to  the  ground  I  cannot  move. 

Fri.  A  lover  may  bestride  the  gossamers, 
That  idles  in  the  wanton  summer  air, 
And  yet  not  fall,  so  light  is  vanity. 
You  are  a  lover,  borrow  Cupid's  wings 
And  soar  with  them  above  a  common  bound. 

F.  B.  I  am  too  sore  empierced  with  his  shaft 
To  soar  with  his  light  feathers. 

Fri.  Ah,  it  boots  thee  not. 

F.  B.  What? 

Fri.  To  be  in  love,  where  scorn  is  bought  with  groans ;  • 
Coy  looks,    with  heart-sore  sighs ;    one   fading  moment's 
mirth, 


958  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

With  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nights ; 
If  haply  won,  perhaps  a  hapless  gain ; 
If  lost,  why  then  a  grievous  labor  wron ; 
However :  but  a  folly  bought  with  wit, 
Or  else  a  wit,  by  folly  vanquished. 

F.  B.  So,  by  your  circumstance,  you  call  me  fool. 

Fri.  So,  by  your  circumstance,  I  fear  you'll  prove. 

F.  B.  'Tis  Love  you  cavil  at,  I  am  not  Love. 

Fri.  But  you're  a  monster  and  that's  mayhap  worse. 

F.  B.  In  all  Cupid's  pageant  there  is  presented 
No  monster,  not  nothing  monstrous  neither. 

Fri.  They  say  all  lovers  swear  more  performance 
Than  they  are  able,  and  yet  do  reserve 
An  ability  that  they  never  perform : 
Vowing  more  than  the  perfection  of  ten ; 
And  discharging  less  than  the  tenth  part  of  one. 
They  that  the  voice  of  lions  and  the  act 
Of  hares  do  have,  are  they  not  monsters,  sir? 

F.  B.  But  that,  good  father,  proves  me  not  a  fool. 

Fri.  Love  is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you, 
Arid  he  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool 
Methinks  should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise, 

F.  B.  Yet  writers  say,  as  in  the  sweetest  bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all. 

Fri.  And  writers  say,  as  a  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow, 
Even  so  by  love,  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  turn'd  to  folly,  blasting  in  the  bud, 
Losing  his  verdure,  even  in  the  prime, 
And  all  the  fair  effects  of  future  hopes. 
Sir,  rouse  yourself,  and  the  weak  wandering  Cupid 


At  the  Court  of  l-'rum;-.  959 

Shall  from  your  neck  unloose  his  amorous  fold, 
And  like  a  dew  drop  from  the  lion's  mane, 
Be  shook  to  airy  air,  to  vaporous  nothing. 
But  wherefore  waste  I  time  to  counsel  thee, 
That  art  a  votary  to  fond  desire? 

F.  B.  Pray  say  not  so,  your  time  is  wasted  not ; 
Counsel  me  father,  for  I  know  th&u  canst; 
Assist  me  father,  for  I  know  thou  wilt. 

Fri.  Indeed  it  is  no  time  to  chide  thee  now* 
Affection  is  not  rated  from  the  heart : 
If  love  have  touch'd  you,  naught  remains  but  so, 
Redime  te  captum,  quarn  queas  minimo. 

"  Here  taking  me  apart  into  his  cell. 
And  bidding  me  be  seated  on  the  floor — 
For  other  beds  the  priests  there  used  none, 
But  011  their  mother-eaith's  dear  lap  did  lie, 
And  bake  their  sides  upon  the  cold  hard  stone— 
He  to  that  point  fit  speeches  'gan  to  frame, 
As  he  the  art  of  words  knew  wondrous  well, 
And  to  my  passionate  pleading,  coldly  said  : — 

Fri.  Twere  ill-advis'd  to  set  at  naught  the  laws. 

F.  B.  These  laws  are  too  severe,  these  customs  strict : 
I  tell  thee  when  I'm  king  I'll  change  them  all. 

/•'/•/.  That  were  some  love,  but  little  policy. 

F.  B.  But  I  will— 

Fri.  Peace,  foolish  son,  and  cease  thy  vows 
That  make  e'en  now  the  very  heavens  to  tremble. 
They  move  me  not  at  all,  for  I  do  know 
When  the  blood  burns,  how  prodigal  the  soul 
Gives  the  tongue  vows :  these  blazes,  Francis, 
Giving  more  light  than  heat, — extinct  in  both, 


960  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Even  in  their  promise,  as  it  is  a  making, — 

You  must  not  take  for  fire :  or  if  it  be, 

'Tis  said,  one  fire  burns  out  another's  burning. 

F.  JS.  So  soon  extinguish'd  ?  young  men's  love  then 

lies, 
Not  truly  in  their  hearts  but  in  their  eyes. 

Fri.  'Tis  even  so. 

F.  ./?.  My  word  shall  be  my  deed ;  I'll  not  repent, 
And  cannot  it  revoke,  most  reverend  father. 

Fri.  Then  shall  thy  word  make  many  bosoms  bleed. 

F.  B.  Yet  is  there  no  great  breach  of  fealty ; 
That  which  I  did  against  the  King,  was  natural — 
'Twas  but  a  subject's  duty  to  his  Queen, 
Who  when  I  saw  her  first  was  like  sweet  May 
Sent  back  to  Hallowmas  or  short'st  of  day 
Through  his  rebuffs.     I  rid  her  from  despite, 
Believe  me.     To  be  brief,  you  know  the  tale 
Of  sweet  Proserpine  in  meadow  straying, 
How  Pluto  raught  Queen  Ceres'  daughter  thence, 
And  what  did  follow  of  that  love  offence  ? 
Then  let  not  any  be  a  Theseus  here, 
Lest  like  to  him  and  his  audacious  mate. 
He  find  himself  seated  never  to  rise. 
Now  by  that  holy  name  Proserpine, 
I  do  protest,  Navarre  I  never  injur'd, 
But  lov'd  him  better  than  thou  canst  devise, 
Till  thou  shalt  know  the  reason  of  my  love. 
Time  was  I  did  him  a  desired  office 
Dear  almost  as  his  life,  which  gratitude 
Through  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth, 
And  answer  thanks.     Aye,  we  are  friends  indeed ! 
When  I  imagine  ill  against  him,  may  that  thought 


At  the  Court  of  France.  961 

Be  my  last  breathing  in  this  mortal  world ! 
The  force  of  his  own  merit  makes  his  way, 
And  he  is  noble ;  aye,  and  who  dare  speak 
One  syllable  against  him  ? 

Fri.  Yes,  yes,  young  Francis, 
There  are  that  dare  and  I  myself  have  ventur'd 
To  speak  my  mind  of  him ;  and  indeed  this  day, 
Sir,  (I  may  tell  it  you)  I  think  I  have 
Incens'd  the  Lords  o'  th'  Council,  that  he  is 
(For  so  I  know  he  is,  they  know  he  is) 
A  most  arch-heretic,  a  pestilence 
That  does  infect  the  land. 

F.  £.  You  are  too  hard ! 
The  King  is  young ;  and  if  he  step  awry, 
He  may  amend,  and  I  will  love  him  still. 
Should  we  disdain  our  vines  because  they  sprout 
Before  their  time  ?  or  young  men,  if  they  strain 
Beyond  their  reach  ?  no,  vines  that  bloom  and  spread 
Do  promise  fruits.     And  young  men  that  are  wild, 
In  age  grow  wise.     He  by  his  untrain'd  heart, 
Hath  marr'd  his  fortunes,  that  I  know  full  well. 
His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  world : 
He  would  not  flatter  Ifeptune  for  his  trident, 
Or  Jove  for's  power  to  thunder.     His  heart's  his  mouth : x 
What  his  breast  forges  that  his  tongue  must  vent ; 
And  being  angry,  doth  forget  that  ever 
He  heard  the  name  of  death.     To  me,  good  father, 
He  made  a  blushing  cital  of  himself, 
And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace, 
As  if  he  master'd  there  a  double  spirit 
Of  teaching,  and  of  learning  instantly ; 
Then  did  he  pause.     But  let  me  tell  the  world, 


962  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 

Great  France  did  never  owe  so  sweet  a  hope, 

So  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantonness. 

Fri.  The  times  and  titles  now  are  alter'd  strangely 
Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass ;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water;  but  my  son,  observe 
The  stars  of  inclination,  sometimes  are 
Pal'd  by  the  sun  of  discipline  and  virtue ; 
There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distill  it  out : 
For  naught  so  vile,  that  on  the  earth  doth  live, 
But  to  the  earth  some  special  good  doth  give : 
Nor  ought  so  good,  but  strain'd  from  that  fair  use, 
Revolts  from  true  birth,  stumbling  on  abuse. 
Virtue  itself  turns  vice,  being  misapplied, 
And  vice  sometimes  by  action  dignified. 
Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  Heaven :  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope,  only  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 

F.  B.  If  to  do,  were  as  easy  as  to  know 
What  were  good  to  do,  chapels  had  been  churches 
And  poor  men's  cottages,  princes'  palaces. 
It  is  the  good  divine  follows  his  own 
Instructions. 

Fri.  I  can  easier  teach  twenty 
What  were  good  to  be  done,  than  to  be  one 
Of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching : 
The  brain  may  devise  laws  for  the  blood,  but 
A  hot  temper  leaps  o'er  a  cold  decree. 
Such  a  hare  is  madness,  the  youth,  to  skip 
O'er  the  meshes  of  good  counsel,  .the  cripple. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  963 

But  youth  should  make  the  things  of  Heaven  its  aim : 
Take  heed  lest  thou,  like  sweet  Sebastian, 
Who  surfeiting  in  prime  time  of  his  youth 
Upon  ambition's  poison,  dies  thereon, 
Drench'd  in  a  lake  of  human  blood  and  gore. 

F.  B.  O  thou  good  Friar,  how  hast  thou  the  heart, 
Being  a  divine,  a  ghostly  confessor, 
A  sin  absolver,  and  my  friend  profest, 
To  mangle  me  with  words  ?     Prithee,  be  still. 
It  helps  not,  it  prevails  not,  talk  no  more. 
By  Him  that  made  us  all,  I  am  resolv'd 
To  have  my  right. 

Fri.  O  deadly  sin,  O  rude  unthankfulness ! 

F.  B.  O  speak  no  more  for  I  have  heard  too  much. 

Fri.  Jesu  Maria  ! 

How  much  good  counsel  thrown  away  in  waste ! 
O  then,  I  see  that  madmen  have  no  ears. 

F.  B.  How  should  they  when  wisemen  have  no  eyes  ? 

Fri.  Let  me  despair  with  thee  of  thy  estate. 

F.  B.  Thou  canst  not  speak  of  that  thou  dost' not  feel. 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  Margaret,  my  love, 
Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banished, 
Then  mightst  thou  speak,  then  mightst  thou  tear  thy  hair, 
And  fall  upon  the  ground  as  I  do  now, 
Taking  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave. 

Fri.  Arise,  one  knocks,  good  Francis  hide  thyself. 

F.  B.  Not  I,  unless  the  breath  of  heart-sick  groans 
Mist-like  enfold  me  from  the  search  of  eyes.  Knock. 

Fri.  Hark,  how  they  knock :   (who's  there  ?) 

Francis,  arise;  Knock. 

Thou  wilt  be  taken,  (stay  awhile,)  stand  up  :  Knock. 

Run  to  my  study :   (by  and  by,)  God's  will 


964  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

What  simpleness  is  this !     I  come,  I  come, — 

Who  knocks  so  hard  ?  whence  come  you  ?  what's  your  will  ? 

Nur.  Let  me  come  in  and  you  shall  know  my  errand  : 
I  come  from  Lady  Margaret. 

Fri.  Welcome  then. 

Nur.  O  holy  Friar,  O  tell  me  holy  Friar, 
Where  is  my  lady's  lord  ?  where's  Francis  Bacon  ? 

Fri.  There  on  the  ground,  with  his  own  tears  made 
drunk. 

Nur.  O  he  is  even  in  my  mistress'  case, 
Just  in  her  case,  O  woful  sympathy : 
Piteous  predicament,  even  so  lies  she. 
Stand  up,  stand  up,  stand  you  and  be  a  man ! 
For  Margaret's  sake,  for  her  sake  rise  and  stand. 

F.  B.  Nurse,  where  is  she  ?  how  doth  she  ?  and  what 

says 
My  conceal'd  lady  to  our  conceal'd  love  ? 

Nur.  Oh  she  says  nothing  sir,  but  weeps  and  weeps, 
And  now  falls  on  her  bed,  and  then  starts  up, 

• 

And  Henry  calls,  and  then  on  Francis  cries, 
And  then  falls  down  again. 

F.  B.  As  if  that  name, 
Shot  from  the  dead  level  of  a  gun, 
Did  murder  her !     Oh  tell  me,  Friar,  tell  me, 
In  what  vile  part  of  this  anatomy 
Doth  my  name  lodge  ?     Tell  me,  that  I  may  sack 
The  hateful  mansion. 

Fri.  Hold  thy  desperate  hand  : 
Art  thou  a  man  ?  thy  form  cries  out  thou  art : 
Thy  tears  are  womanish,  thy  wild  acts  denote 
The  unreasonable  fury  of  a  beast. 
Unseemly  woman,  in  a  seeming  man, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  965 

And  ill-beseeming  beast  in  seeming  both, 

Thou  hast  amaz'd  me.     By  my  holy  order, 

I  thought  thy  disposition  better  temper'd. 

Wilt  thou  slay  thyself? 

And  slay  thy  lady  that  in  thy  life  lies 

By  doing  damn&d  hate  against  thyself? 

Why  rail'st  thou  on  thy  birth?  the  heaven  and  earth? 

Since  birth  and  heaven  and  earth  all  three  do  meet 

In  thee  at  once,  which  thou  at  once  would'st  lose. 

Go  before,  Nurse,  commend  me  to  your  lady, 

And  bid  her  there  await  Prince  Francis'  coming. 

NUT.  O  Lord  what  learning  is ! 
My  Lord,  I'll  tell  my  lady  you  will  come. 
Here  sir,  a  ring  she  bid  me  give  you  sir. 

F.  B.  How  well  my  comfort  is  reviv'd  by  this ; 
But  in  my  brain  only  confusion  reigns, 
Where  every  something,  being  blent  together, 
Turns  to  a  wild  of  nothing,  save  of  joy, 
Express'd,  and  not  express'd :  but  when  this  ring 
Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence. 

Fri.  Hope  is  a  lover's  staff,  walk  hence  with  that 
And  manage  it  against  despairing  thoughts. 
Thy  letters  may  be  here,  though  thou  art  hence, 
Which,  being  writ  to  me,  shall  be  deliver'd 
Even  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  thy  love. 
The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate ; 
As  much  as  I  can  do,  I  will  effect : 
Come,  I'll  convey  thee  through  the  city-gate, 
And  ere  I  part  with  thee,  confer  at  large 
Of  all  that  may  concern  thy  love  affairs : 
Come  let  us  forth  without  further  delay, 
I'll  bring  you  to  the  gates. 


966  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

F.  B.  Accept  distracted  thanks. 

"  As  we  set  forth  I  said  to  the  good  father : — 

F.  B.  Friar,  look  out  upon  the  gladsome  day : 
See  how  the  morning  opes  her  golden  gates, 
And  takes  her  farewell  of  the  glorious  sun. 

Fri.  How  well  resembles  it  the  prime  of  youth, 
Trimm'd  like  a  yonker  prancing  to  his  love. 

F.  B.    The  King  of  Heaven  forbid  aught  stain  the 

tract, 
Of  his  bright  passage  to  the  Occident. 

Fri.  I  spy  a  black  suspicious,  threat'ning  cloud, 
That  will  encounter  with  our  glorious  sun, 
Ere  he  attain  his  easeful  western  bed. 

F.  B.  A  little  gale  will  soon  disperse  that  cloud, 
And  blow  it  to  the  source  from  whence  it  came, 
And  the  sun's  beams  will  dry  those  vapours  up, 
For  every  cloud  engenders  not  a  storm. 

Fri.  'Tis  true  that  every  fume  turns  not  to  storm,   ' 
Yet,  nevertheless,  it  is  true  that  storms, 
Though  they  blow  over  many  times,  may  fall  at  last ; 
Think  not  to  escape  for  aye  things  that  do  threat ; 
The  pitcher  breaks  that  goes  oft  to  the  well ; 
And,  as  the  Spanish  proverb  truly  notes, 
The  cord  at  last  parts  by  the  weakest  pull. 

F.  B.  I  had  a  thing  to  say,  but  let  it  go. 
The  sun  is  in  the  heaven,  and  the  proud  day 
Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Is  all  too  wanton  and  too  full  of  gauds 
To  give  me  audience.     But  mark  you  this, 
This  injury  pertains  to  me,  not  you, 
And  what  I  do  shall  rest  irrevocably. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  967 

The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook, 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it.     From  this  moment, 
The  very  firstlings  of  my  thought  shall  be 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand. 

Fri.  Est  ce  done  a  tel  point  votre  etat  ?     Faith,  then, 

adieu ; 
111  fortune  follow  thee  where'er  thou  go. 

F.  B.  But  that  a  joy  past  joy,  calls  out  on  me, 
It  were  a  grief,  so  brief  to  part  with  thee : 
Farewell. 


"  I  am  dismiss'd  without  the  father's  blessing, 
But  I'm  content.     For  am  I  not  belov'd, 
And  love  I  not  again  ?  aye  'tis  too  true ! 
Now  am  I  double  prisoner  to  sweet  Margaret : 
Either  she  hath  bewitch'd  me  with  her  words, 
And  by  the  charm  of  sweetest  looks  alike, 
Or  nature  makes  me  thus  relent.     So  love  is  lost — 
Lost  and  recover'd  in  a  day  again — and  now 
I  feed  myself  on  most  delicious  poison. 
What  power  is  it  which  mounts  my  love  so  high, 
That  makes  me  see  and  cannot  feed  my  eye  ? 
Sir  Amyas  Paulet,  my  friend,  is  wont  to  say, 
When  too  mnch  haste  is  made  in  any  matter : — 

'  Stay  awhile  that  we  may  make  an  end  the  sooner.' 
He  now  must  be  ambassador  for  me, 
And  undertake  the  treaty  of  the  marriage : 
God  grant  him  victory — and  yet  I  feel 
My  luck  is  loss  howe'er  my  love  do  speed. 
But  I  do  love  thee,  my  own  lovely  Queen, 
And  'tis  not  strange  that  I  am  thus  bewitch'd. 
Bidst  thou  me  rage?  why  now  thou  hast  thy  wish. 


968  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Wouldst  have  me  weep  ?  why  now  thou  hast  thy  will. 

For  raging  wind  blows  up  incessant  showers, 

And  when  the  rage  allays,  the  rain  begins. 

With  how  contrarious  thoughts  am  I  withdrawn ; 

I  cannot  bound  a  pitch  above  dull  woe : 

Under  love's  heavy  burthen  do  I  sink, 

And  to  sink  in  it  I  should  burthen  love, — 

Too  great  oppression  for  a  tender  thing. 

Is  love  a  tender  thing  ?  it  is  too  rough, 

Too  rude,  too  boisterous.     Stand  I  on  love  ? 

Stoop  I  to  Venus'  lure  ?  her  wily  arts  ? 

Shall  such  a  siren  offer  me  more  wrong 

Than  they  did  to  the  Prince  of  Ithaca  ? 

No,  as  he  stops  his  ears,  I'll  stop  mine  eyes. 

The  adamant  'tis  said,  will  not  be  fil'd 

But  by  itself,  and  beauty  that  exceeds, 

By  some  exceeding  favor  must  be  wrought. 

"  Why  linger  I  'twixt  hope  and  doubtful  fear  ? 
Here's  much  to  do  with  hate,  but  more  with  love : 
Why  then,  O  brawling  love,  O  loving  hate ; 
O  anything,  of  nothing  first  created : 
O  heavy  lightness,  serious  vanity, 
Mis-shapen  chaps  of  well-seeing  forms, 
Feather  of  lead,  bright  smoke,  cold  fire,  sick  health. 
Still  waking  sleep,  that  is  not  what  it  is : 
This  love  feel  I,  that  feel  no  love  in  this. 
But  such  is  love's  trangression,  and  she, 
Like  a  right  gypsy,  hath  at  fast  and  loose, 
Beguil'd  me  to  the  very  heart  of  loss. 
What  Eros,  Eros!  ah,  thou  spell,  avaunt! 
When  I  would  pray,  and  think,  I  think,  and  pray 
To  several  subjects  :  heaven  hath  my  empty  words, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  969 

Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 

Anchors  on  Margaret :  Heaven  in  my  mouth, 

As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  His  name, 

And  in  my  heart  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 

Of  my  conception  :  Pardon  love  this  wrong, 

That  sings  Heaven's  praise,  with  such  an  earthly  tongue. 

Why  am  I  thus  enrag'd  against  my  love  ? 

Why  speak  I  thus  of  beauty's  self  ?    Not  frenzy, 

Not  absolute  madness  could  so  far  have  rav'd. 

I  love  and  hate  her,  for  she's  fair  and  royal. 

And  that  she  hath  all  courtly  parts  more  exquisite, 

Than  lady,  ladies,  woman ;  from  everyone 

The  best  she  hath,  and  she  of  all  compounded 

Out-sells  them  all.     I  love  her  therefore,  yet 

Since  she  throws  favors  on  the  haughty  Guise, 

I  will  conclude  to  hate  her,  nay  indeed, 

To  be  reveng'd  upon  her. 

"  She  sweeps  it  through  the  court  with  troops  of  ladies, 
More  like  an  empress,  than  King  Navarre's  wife : 
Strangers  in  court  do  take  her  for  the  Queen : 
Her  sovereign  beauty  hath  no  living  peer 
Thereto,  so  bounteous  and  debonaire 
That  never  any  might  with  her  compare ! 
Whate'er  she  doth  and  whithere'er  she  go 
A  sweet  and  pleasing  grace  attends  forsooth  : 
Or  loose,  or  bind  her  hair,  or  comb  it  up, 
She's  to  be  honored  in  what  she  doth : 
Fair  Margaret,  the  fairest  living  wight ! 
Can  human  mind  conceive  that  aught  so  fair 
Should  shrine  deceit,  desire,  and  lawless  lust? 
Ah !  that  deceit  should  .gteal  such  gentle  shape, 
And  with  a  virtuous  vizor  hide  deep  vice ! 


970  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Ah !  fair,  fair  Margaret,  divine  Margaret, 

Fair  is  too  foul  an  epithet  for  thee ! 

That  which  you  are,  my  thoughts  cannot  transpose ; 

Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest  fell ! 

Though  all  things  foul  should  wear  the  brows  of  grace, 

Yet  grace  must  still  look  so.     No,  as  I  am  a  man, 

There's  nothing  ill,  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple ; 

If  the  ill-spirit  hath  so  fair  a  house, 

Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with  it. 

Would  1  could  see  her  now.     Perchance  she  weeps. 

Sweet  Queen,  weep  not ;  for  tears  are  vain,  and  yet 

To  weep,  is  to  make  less  the  depth  of  grief. 

O  gentle  Margaret,  let  me  kiss  thy  lips ; 

Or  make  some  sign  how  I  may  do  thee  ease. 

"  Do  I  forget,  nurse  said  she  lov'd  the  Guise  ? 
Nay,  I  was  inly  mov£d  at  her  speech, 
Well  weeting  true  what  she  had  rashly  told, 
Yet  with  fair  semblance  sought  to  hide  the  breach. 
He'll  make  demand  of  her,  I'll  warrant  thee, 
And  spend  that  kiss  which  is  my  heaven  to  have — 
Come  sir,  come  sir,  you  shall  not  out-do  me, 
I'll  wrestle  with  you  in  the  strength  of  love. 

"  My  sweet,  I'll  catch  thine  eyes  though  they  had  wings: 
I'll  make  thee  blithe  and  wanton  by  my  wit. 
Discourse  and  laugh  on  all  occasions,  sweet ; 
Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days, 
Before  your  loves  do  take  you  into  grace. 

"  A  voice  arrests  me — 'tis  the  king's  keeper, 
(With  him  is  one  of  the  lords  of  the  court) 
Ife  too  would  know  why  I  do  walk  abroad 
At  such  an  hour,  tells  me  it  must  be  love 
And  shrewdly  guesses  where  my  heart  doth  rest. 
Quoth  he : — 


At  the  Court  of  France.  971 

Keeper.  My  lord,  you  are  not  sharp  enough : 
You  must  lay  lime,  to  tangle  her  desires 
By  wailful  sonnets  whose  composed  rhymes 
Should  be  full-fraught  with  serviceable  vows. 

F.  B.  Much  is  the  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy, — 
That  have  I  learned  in  the  English  Court 
Where,  being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the  harp 
Many  an  English  ditty,  lovely  well, 
And  gave  the  tongue  a  helpful  ornament. 

Keep.  Aye,  but  these  fellows  of  infinite  tongue, 
That  can  rhyme  themselves  into  ladies'  favors, 
Do  always  reason  themselves  out  again. 

"  And  the  young  lord  did  add  : — 

Lord.  This  rhyming    knack  will  stand  you  in  good 

stead. 

Say  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart : 
Write  till  your  ink  be  dry ;  and  with  your  tears 
Moist  it  again,  and  frame  some  feeling  line, 
That  may  discover  such  integrity. 
After  your  dire-lamenting  elegies, 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber- window 
With  some  sweet  consort ;  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump  :  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet  complaining  grievance  : 
This,  or  else  nothing  will  inherit  her. 

F.  B.  This  discipline  shows  thou  hast  been  in  love. 

"  Thereat  the  keeper  laughed  aloud  and  said  : — 

Keep.  By  m'troth  well  met ;  come  sit,  sit,  and  a  song. 
L.  We  are  for  you,  sit  i'  th'  middle. 


972  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Keep.  Shall  we  clap  into't  roundly,  without  hawking, 
Or  spitting,  or  saying  that  we  are  hoarse, 
Which  are  the  only  prologues  to  a  bad  voice  ? 

F.  B.  I'  faith,  y  faith,  and  both  in  a  tune. 

Song. 

It  was  a  lover  and  his  lass, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
That  o'er  the  green  cornfield  did  pass, 

In  the  springtime,  the  only  pretty  rang  time. 
When  birds  do  sing  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding, 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring, 
And  therefore  take  the  present  time, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime, 

In  springtime,  etc. 

Between  the  acres  of  the  rye, 
With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino ; 

These  pretty  country  folks  would  hie, 
In  springtime,  etc. 

This  carol  they  began  that  hour, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino  : 

How  that  a  life  was  but  a  flower, 
In  springtime,  etc. 

Keep.  Still  brooding  on  thy  love  young  gentleman  ? 
Come,  come,  cheer  up ;  you  are  too  melancholy. 
Your  heart  is  full  of  something  that  does  take 
Your  mind  from  pleasure.     Sooth,  when  I  was  young, 
And  handed  love  as  you  do,  I  was  wont 
To  load  my  she  with  knacks :  I  would  ransack 
The  peddler's  silken  treasury  and  pour't 
To  her  acceptance.     So  my  lord  should  you 


At  the  Court  of  France.  973 

If  you  make  care  of  happy  holding  her, 
Or  rightly  winning  her. 

F.  B.  Old  sir,  I  know 
She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are : 
The  gifts  she  looks  from  me,  are  packt  and  lockt 
Up  in  my  heart,  which  I  have  given  already, 
But  not  deliver'd. 

Keep.  Nay,  nay,  you  are  not  wise. 
Win  her  with  gifts,  if  she  respect  not  words ; 
Dumb  jewels  often  in  their  silent  kind 
More  than  quick  words,  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 

F.  B.  But  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent  her. 

Keep.  A  woman  sometimes  scorns  what  best  contents 

her. 

Send  her  another :  never  give  her  o'er, 
For  scorn  at  first,  makes  after-love  the  more. 
If  she  do  frown,  'tis  not  in  hate  of  you, 
But  rather  to  beget  more  love  in  you. 
If  she  do  chide,  'tis  not  to  have  you  gone, 
For  why,  the  fools  are  mad,  if  left  alone. 
Take  no  repulse,  whatever  she  doth  say, 
For,  get  you  gone,  she  doth  not  mean  away. 
Flatter,  and  praise,  commend,  extol  their  graces : 
Though  ne'er  so  black,  say  they  have  angel  faces, — 
That  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say  is  no  man, 
If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  a  woman. 

F.  B.  You  do  not  understand. 

Keep.  Well,  well,  enough  of  this  : 
For  my  part  I'll  not  meddle  nor  make  no  farther, 
( For  long  agone  I  have  forgot  to  court, 
Besides  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  chang'd) 
But  this  I  know  my  youthful  chevalier, 


974  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

He  that  will  have  a  cake  out  of  the  wheat, 
Must  needs  tarry  the  grinding. 

F.  B.  Have  I  not  tarried  ? 

Keep.  Aye,  the  grinding;  but  you   must   tarry   the 
bolting. 

F.  B.  Have  I  not  tarried  ? 

Keep.  Aye,   the   bolting;    but  you   must   tarry   the 
leav'ning. 

F.  B.  Still  have  I  tarried. 

Keep.  Aye,  to  the  leavening ;  but  here's  yet  in  the  word 
Hereafter,  the  kneading,  the  making  of  the  cake, 
The  heating  of  the  oven,  and  the  baking; 
Nay,  you  must  stay  the  cooling  too,  or  you 
May  chance  to  burn  your  lips. 

F.  B.  Sir,  I  am  weaker  than  a  woman's  tear; 
Tamer  than  sleep,  fonder  than  ignorance ; 
Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night, 
And  skill-less  as  unpractic'd  infancy. 
Immortal  gods,  O  hear  me  breathe  my  love 
Before  this  ancient  sir,  whom  it  should  seem 
Hath  sometime  lov'd :  I  take  thy  hand,  this  hand, 
As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow,  that's  bolted 
By  th'  northern  blast  twice  o'er — 

Keep.  What  follows  this  ? 
How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand  was  fair  before !    I've  put  you  out, — 
A  thousand  pardons,  sir. 

F.  B.  Then  I  protest 

That  were  I  Crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch 
Thereof  most  worthy :  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
That  ever  made  eye  swerve,  had  force  of  knowledge 


At  the  Court  of  France.  975 

More  than  was  ever  man's,  I  would  not  prize  them 
Without  her  love ;  for  her,  employ  them  all, 
Commend  them,  and  condemn  them  to  her  service, 
Or  to  their  own  perdition. 

Keep.  Fairly  offer'd ; 
This  shows  a  sound  affection,  my  young  friend. 

F.  B.  Oh  Keeper,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love 
her! 

Keep.  I  partly  guess,  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 

F.  JB.  No  Keeper,  being  old  thou  canst  not  guess, 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  pillow : 
But  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  to  mine, 
As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so : 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous, 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy  ? 

Keep.  Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 

F.  B.  Oh  thou  didst  then  never  love  so  heartily. 
If  thou  rememberest  not  the  slightest  folly, 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd. 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now, 
Wearing  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd. 
Come  Keeper,  we  will  hear  that  song  again. 

Keep.  O  my  good  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice, 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

F.  B.  It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency, 
To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection. 
I  pray  thee  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Keep.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing, 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 


976  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy,  yet  he  wooes, 
Yet  will  he  swear  he  loves. 

F.  B.  Nay,  pray  thee  come ; 
Or  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Keep.  Sweet  youth,  I'll  sing  again. 

Song. 

Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note, 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat : 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 
Here  shall  he  see  no  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

F.  B.  More,  more,  I  prithee  more. 

Keep.  It  will  make  you  melancholy,  Monsieur  Fran- 
cis. 

Lord.  And  as  the  rain,  saith  Austin,  doth  a  stone, 
So  do  these  perturbations  penetrate  the  mind, 
And,  if  they  be  reiterated,  do 
A  habit  of  melancholy  produce, 
Which  having  gotten  mastery  in  our  souls, 
May  well  be  called  disease. 

F.  B.  O  learned  judge ! 
I  thank  it :  more,  I  prithee  more. 

Keep.  My  voice  is  ragged,  I  know  I  cannot  please  you. 

F.  B.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me, 
I  desire  you  to  sing : 
Come,  more,  another  stanzo :  call  you  'em  stanzo's  £ 

Keep.  What  you  will  Monsieur  Francis. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  977 

F.  B.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names,  they  owe  me 

nothing. 
Will  you  sing?    Come,  warble,  come. 

Song. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  live  i'th'  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleas'd  with  what  he  gets  : 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither, 
Here  shall  he  see,  etc. 

F.  B.  But  all  your  life  is  not  a  summer  day. 
Lord.  Nay,  nay,  but  I've  a  song  for  that,  young  friend, 
Which  I  will  sing  to  you. 

Song. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 

Thou  art  not  so  unkind, 
As  man's  ingratitude ; 

My  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 

Because  thou  art  not  seen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh  ho,  sing  heigh  ho,  unto  the  green  holly, 
Most  friendship  is  feigning  ;  most  loving,  mere  folly  : 

Then  heigh  ho,  the  holly, 

This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh, 

As  benefits  forgot ; 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  tongue  is  not  so  sharp, 

As  friend  remember'd  not. 
Heigh  ho,  sing,  etc. 


978  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Keep.  Come,  come,  another  song  I'll  sing  you  now, 
"  Said  the  old  keeper  in  his  rough,  kind  way. 

F.  B.  You  may,  you  may,  but  let  the  song  be  love. 
Lord.  This  love'll  undo  us  all.     O  Cupid,  Cupid ! 
Out  of  that  quiver  all  my  troubles  spring, 

"  Quoth  his  companion  half  unto  himself. 

Keep.  Love,  gentle  boy  ?     Aye,  that  it  shall  y  faith. 
F.  B.  Aye,  good  now,  love,  love,  nothing  but  love. 
Keep.  In  good  troth  it  begins  so.     List  you  now. 

Love,  love,  nothing  but  love  still  more  : 
For  oh,  love's  bow 
Shoots  buck  and  doe  : 
The  shaft  confounds  not  that  it  wounds, 

But  tickles  still  the  sore. 
These  lovers  cry  oh,  ho  !  they  die  ; 

Yet  that  which  seems  the  wound  to  kill, 
Doth  turn  oh,  ho  !  to  ha,  ha,  he  : 

So  dying  love  lives  still, 
0  ho  !  awhile,  but  ha,  ha,  ha, 
O  ho,  groans  out  for  ha,  ha,  ha — hey  ho. 

F.  B.  Come,  come  I'll  hear  no  more  of  this.     I  like 

it  not. 
I  count  it  but  time  lost  to  hear  such  foolish  songs. 

Keep.  Aye  by  my  troth,  sweet  lord,  the  song  is  true ; 
But  thou  hast  a  fine  forehead,  and  thou 'It  live 
Though  thou  beest  so  horrible  in  love : 
For  men  have  died,  from  time  to  time,  and  worms 
Have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love. 

F.  B.  Sirrah  walk  off!  I  will  listen  no  longer. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  979 

"  And  they  passed  on,  but  mockingly  methought, 
The  young  lord  sang  these  words  : — 

Love  like  a  shadow  flies, 

When  substance  love  pursues, 

Pursuing  that  that  flies, 
And  flying  what  pursues. 

"  Then  to  Italian  melody  he  chang'd 
And  the  wind  brought  it  softly  back  to  me  : — 

Se  Diana  nel  cielo  e  una  stella 

Chiara  e  lucente,  piena  di  splendore, 

Che  porge  luc'  all'  aflfanato  cuore ; 

Se  Diana  nel  ferno  e  una  dea, 

Che  da  conforto  all'  anime  dannate, 

Che  per  amor  son  morte  desperate ; 

Se  Diana,  ch'  in  terra  £  delle  ninfe 

Reina  imperativa  di  dolci  fiori, 

Tra  bosch'  e  selve  da  morte  a  pastori ; 

lo  son  un  Diana  dolce  e  rara, 

Che  con  li  guardi  io  posso  far  guerra 

A  Dian'  infern',  in  cielo,  e  in  terra. 

"  I've  not  been  angry  since  I  came  to  France 
Until  this  instant,  but  I  know  'tis  vain ; 
And  I've  indeed  a  deeper  cause  for  grief. 
Anthony  hath  his  powerful  mandate  sent 
To  me,  and  saith  :     '  You  must  not  stay  there  longer, — ' 
Greets  me  with  strange  and  unacquainted  terms, 
And  speaketh  too  of  merciless  proceedings. 
These  tidings  nip  me,  and  I  hang  the  head 
As  flowers  with  frost,  or  grass  bent  down  with  storms. 
Is  Anthony  or  we  at  fault  for  this  ? 


980  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Lije 

Anthony  only,  that  would  make  his  will 

Lord  of  his  reason.     His  speech  sticks  in  my  heart. 

0  sun,  burn  the  great  sphere  thou  movest  in, 
Darkling  stand  the  varying  shore  o'  th'  world ! 
Against  the  flint  and  hardness  of  my  fault, 

I,  impotent  man,  grief  madden'd,  throw  my  heart, 
Which  being  dried  with  grief,  will  break  to  powder, 
And  finish  all  foul  thoughts.     Oh  Anthony, 
Nobler  than  my  revolt  is  infamous, 
Forgive  me  in  thine  own  particular, 
But  let  the  world  look  on  me  as  it  will. 

"  Yet  wilt  thou,  brother,  bid  me  leave  my  Queen ! 
Now,  by  the  ground  that  I  am  banish'd  from, 
Well  could  I  curse  away  a  winter's  night, 
Though  standing  naked  on  a  mountain  top, 
Where  biting  cold  would  never  let  grass  grow, 
And  think  it  but  a  minute  spent  in  sport ! 
Hence  banished  is  banisht  from  the  world. 
The  world's  exile  is  death :  then  banished 
Is  death  misterm'd  :  calling  death  banished, 
Thou  cut'st  my  head  off  with  a  golden  axe, 
And  smil'st  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 
Never  believe,  though  in  my  nature  reign'd 
All  frailties  that  besiege  all  kinds  of  blood, 
That  it  could  so  preposterously  be  stain'd, 
To  leave  for  nothing,  all  thy  sum  of  good, — 
For  nothing  this  wide  universe  1  call, 
Save  thou,  my  Rose, — in  it  thou  art  my  all. 

"  Yet  I  do  lack  some  part  that  is  in  Anthony  : 
'Tis  that  we  brothers  are  not,  in  our  blood. 

1  am  alone  the  villain  of  the  earth, 
And  feel  I  am  so  most.     Oh  Anthony, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  981 

Thou  mine  of  bounty,  how  wouldst  thou  have  paid 

My  better  service,  when  my  turpitude 

Thou  dost  so  crown  with  gold  !     This  blows  my  heart ! 

If  swift  thought  break  it  not,  a  swifter  mean 

Shall  out-strike  thought,  but  thought  will  do't.     I  feel 

I  fight  against  thee :  no,  I  will  go  seek 

Some  ditch  wherein  to  die :  the  foul'st  best  fits 

My  latter  part  of  life.     I  blush  for  shame. 

This  fever  that  hath  troubled  me  so  long, 

Lies  heavy  on  me :  oh,  my  heart  is  sick ! 

Ah  women,  women !     Come,  we  have  no  friend 

But  resolution,  and  the  briefest  end. 

u  Oh,  that  this  too  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew : 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixt 
His  canon  'gainst  self  slaughter !     O  God !     O  God ! 
How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 
E'en  were  I  king  now,  still  it  were  for  me, 
To  throw  my  sceptre  at  the  injurious  gods, 
To  tell  them  that  this  world  diji  equal  theirs, 
Till  they  had  stolne  our  jewel,  our  pure  pearl, 
The  sense  and  virtue  of  fair  Margaret ! 
Earth  has  no  treasure  now,  all  is  but  naught : 
Patience  is  sottish  and  impatience  does 
Become  a  dog  that's  mad ;  then  is  it  sin 
To  rush  into  the  secret  house  of    death, 
Ere  death  can  come  to  us?     How  vain  is  all 
The  struggle  of  this  life :  the  toil  o'th'  war, 
A  pain  that  only  seems  to  seek  out  danger 
I  'th'  name  of  Fame,  and  Honour,  which  dies  i'th'  search, 
And  hath  as  oft  a  sland'rous  epitaph, 


982  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

As  record  of  fair  act.     That  we  shall  die  we  know, 

And  he  that  cuts  off  twenty  years  of  life, 

Cuts  off  so  many  years  of  fearing  death. 

Far  better  I  it  deem  to  die  with  speed 

Thanjvaste  in  woe  and  wailful  misery : 

Who  dies,  the  utmost  dolour  doth  aby, 

But  who  that  lives,  is  left  to  wail  his  loss ; 

So  life  is  loss,  and  death  felicity : 

Sad  life  worse  than  glad  death ;  and  greater  cross. 

Between  the  death  of  old  men  and  young  men, 

There's  but  this  difference,  one  of  the  fathers  said, — 

'Old  men  do  go  to  death,  death  comes  to  young  men.' 

Then  I  must  wait — well,  I  will  muse  no  further — 

I  will  have  comfort :  all  of  us  have  cause 

To  wail  the  dimming  of  our  shining  star ; 

But  none  can  help  our  harms  by  wailing  them. 

In  faith  I've  not  intended  harm,  but  love 

Awakes  my  conscience  to  confess  all  this. 

"  I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee, 
Of  thee,  my  dear  one,  thee,  my  Margaret ; 
My  soul's  sole-reigning  queen,  whose  beauty  claims 
No  worse  a  husband  than  the  best  of  men ; 
Whose  virtues  and  whose  general  graces  speak 
That  which  none  else  can  utter.     By  this  marriage 
All  little  jealousies  which  now  seem  great, 
And  all  great  fears,  which  now  import  their  dangers, 
Would  then  be  nothing.     Truths  would  be  tales, 
Where  now  half  tales  be  truths, — her  love  to  both 
Her  wedded  lord  and  that  thrice-gallant  Duke, 
Should  be  untold.     But  now,  sweet  Queen,  thou  art 
The  mark  whereat  the  enemy  doth  aim ; 
Thy  virtues  shall  be  construed  to  vice ; 


At  the  Court  of  France.  983 

Thine  affable  discourse,  to  abject  mind ; 
If  coy,  detracting  tongues  will  call  thee  proud, 
( Who  soothe  no  vice,  who  flatter  not  for  gain ) 
And  if  thou  art  in  manner  gracious, 
Then  wicked  tongues  speak  thee  of  little  worth. 
Thou'rt  wrong'd,  thou'rt  slander'd,  thou'rt  undone ! 
O  Margaret,  I  fear  thine  overthrow, 
More  than  my  body's  parting  with  my  soul ! 
Yea,  there's  the  wound,  and  wounded  with  that  thought, 
So  let  me  die,  for  all  my  drift  is  naught, 
If  aught  betides  to  lovely  Margaret, 
That  wrongs  or  wrings  her  honor  from  content. 
"  Ah,  other  bands  there  be,  that  faster  tie 
Than  bands  of  sovereignty,  and  yet  myself 
This  fair  alliance  quickly  shall  call  home 
To  high  promotions,  and  great  dignity. 

0  igentle  Queen,  if  ever  thou  be'st  mine, 
As  I've  a  saving  faith  within  me  tells 

To  me  thou  shalt  in  future  time,  know  thou, 
That  though  I  want  a  kingdom,  yet  in  marriage 

1  may  not  prove  inferior  to  thyself; 

And  I,  e'en  now,  can  woo  thee  with  a  title 

That  God,  the  law,  my  honor,  and  my  love  can  make. 

I  do  in  birth  deserve  thee,  and  in  fortunes 

In  graces  and  in  qualities  of  breeding ; 

But,  more  than  these,  in  love  I  do  deserve, 

O  peerless  woman !     Yet  forgive  me,  God, 

That  I  do  brag  thus ;  this  your  a'ir  of  France 

Hath  blown  this  vice  in  me — I  must  repent. 

'  Tis  said  that  they  brought  up  from  infancy 

In  courts  of  kings  and  their  affairs  of  state, 

Scarce  e'er  attain  to  honesty  of  manners, 


984  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Deep  and  sincere.     Be  that  as't  may,  my  Queen, 

I  have  a  sharper  sense  of  honor  than  thy  King, 

And  though  I  do  not  win  my  wished  end, 

Yet,  thus  far  happy  I  myself  do  ween, 

That  Heaven  such  happy  grace  did  to  me  lend, 

As  thing  on  earth  so  heavenly  to  have  seen, 

My  heart's  enshrined  saint,  my  heaven's  queen : 

Fairer  than  fairest  in  my  faining  eye, 

Whose  sole  aspect  I  count  felicity, 

Thou  art  my  goddess,  thou'rt  my  mighty  guide. 

"  But  see,  Yenus  appears,  or  one,  indeed, 
That  overmatches  Venus  in  her  shape, — 
Sweet  Margaret,  beauty's  high. swelling  pride, 
Rich  nature's  glory  and  her  wealth  at  once, 
The  _sweetest_sun  that  e'er  I jsaw  to  jshine. 
See  where  she  comes  in  guise  of  a  young  lord ! 
List  her  soft  foot  falls !  oh,  so  light  a  foot, 
Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint ! 
Her  page  is  with  her,  yet  doth  look  less  young 
And  gracious  than  her  sweet  and  gracious  self: 
She  that  hath  stolne  into  the  wealth  of  loving  looks, 
And  tied  my  thoughts  within  her  lovely  locks ; 
She  that  is  lov'd,  and  love  unto  her  king, 
Fairer  than  was  the  virgin  Danae, 
That  waits  on  Venus  with  a  golden  show : 
Oh,  who  alive  can  perfectly  declare 
The  wondrous  cradle  of  thine  infancy, 
When  the  great  mother  Venus  first  thee  bare, 
The  wonder  of  the  earth,  the  pride  of  heaven  ? 
Had  I  the  riches  nature  locketh  up 
To  deck  her  darling  beauty  when  she  smiles, 
I'd  lavish  it  on  thee,  my  peerless  one, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  985 

And  I  in  duty  would  excel  all  other, 

As  thou  in  beauty  doth  exceed  Love's  mother. 

Or  I  am  mad  or  else  this  is  a  dream : 

Let  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe  steep, 

If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  me  sleep. 

This  is  the  air,  that  is  the  glorious  sun, 

This  pearl  she  gave  me,  I  do  feel't,  and  see't, 

And  though  'tis  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus, 

Yet  'tis  not  madness,  nor  a  fleeting  dream. 

Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart, 

Making  both  it  unable  for  itself, 

And  dispossessing  all  the  other  parts 

Of  necessary  fitness  ?  , 

So  play  the  foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swounds, 

Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 

By  which  he  should  revive.     O  hark,  they  sing — 

Margaret  and  boy  singing. 

Take,  0  take  those  lips  away, 
That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn, 

And  those  eyes — the  break  of  day 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn. 

But  my  kisses  bring  again,  bring  again, 

Seals  of  love,  but  seal'd  in  vain,  seal'd  in  vain. 

F.  B.  Fair  of  all  fairs,  O  welcome,  welcome  sweet. — 

"Quoth  I,  as  I  stept  forth.    Unto   the  boy  she 
spake : — 

Margaret.  Break  off  thy  song  and  haste  thee  quick 

away; 

Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath   often  still'd  my  brawling  discontent. 
I  cry  you  mercy,  sir,  and  well  could  wish 


986  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical. 

Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, 

My  mirth  is  much  displeas'd,  but  pleas'd  my  woe. 

F.  B.  'Tis  good ;  though  music  oft  hath  such  a  charm 
To  make  bad,  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
Mine  eyes  are  blest  in  resting  on  thy  face ; 
Ah,  Margaret,  if  the  measure  of  thy  joy 
Be  heapt  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more 
To  blazon  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbor  air,  and  let  rich  Music's  tongue, 
Unfold  the  imagined  happiness  that  both 
Receive  in  either,  by  this  dear  encounter. 
Like  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize, 
That  thinks  he  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes,    • 
Hearing  applause  and  universal  shout, 
Giddy  in  spirit,  still  gazing  in  a  doubt 
Whether  those  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  no, — 
So,  thrice  fair  lady,  stand  I  even  so, 
As  doubtful  whether  what  I  see  be  true, 
Until  confirm'd,  sign'd,  ratified  by  you. 

M.  Conceit  more  rich  in  matter  than  in  words, 
Brags  of,  his  substance,  not  of  ornament; 
They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth. 
Sweeth  health  and  fair  desires  comfort  your  grace ; 
Thy  own  wish,  wish  I  thee  in  every  place. 

F.  B.  Margaret,  the  love  I  bear  thee,  can  afford 
No  better  term  than  this :  thou  art  my  treasure', 
Nothing  more  dear  to  me.     You  are  abus'd 
Beyond  the  mark  of  thought,  and  the  High  God 
To  do  you  justice,  makes  His  ministers 
Of  us,  and  those  that  love  you.     Best  of  comfort. 
And  ever  welcome  to  us,  Margaret, 


At  the  Court  of  France.  987 

Each  heart  in  France  doth  love  and  pity  you. 
O  my  sweet-heart,  how  do  I  moan  thy  wrongs, 
Yet  triumph  in  the  hope  of  thee,  my  joy  ! 

M.  I  have  been  seeking  thee  this  hour,  my  lord. 

F.  B.  But  why  art  thou,  O  lady,  come  to  range 
In  this  wild  forest  where  no  pleasure  is, 
And  dost  not  it  for  joyous  court  exchange  ? 
Amongst  thy  equal  peers,  where  happy  bliss 
And  all  delight  does  reign,  much  more  than  this. 
There  thou  mayst  love  and  dearly  lov&d  be, 
And  swim  in  pleasures  which  thou  here  dost  miss, 
There  mayst  thou  best  be  seen,  and  best  mayst  see : 
The  wood  is  fit  for  beasts,  the  court  for  thee, 
The  court — school-mistress  of  thy  courtesy. 

"  Quoth  she  :— 

M.  Whoso  injmmp  of  j>roud  estate, 
Does  swim  and  bathes  himself  in  courtly  bliss, 
Is  far  away  from  .sunshine  of  Heaven's  s;mile. 
Little  do  men  perceive  what's  solitude 
And  how  far  it  extendeth,  for  a  crowd 
Is  not  company,  and  faces  are  but 
A  gallery  of  pictures,  and  all  talk 
Is  but  a  tinkling  cymbal,  saith  Saint  Paul,   _-- 
When  there's  no  love.     Ill  it  becomes  you,  Prince, 
To  scorn  the  joy  that  love  is  glad  to  seek. 
Tell  me,  dear  love,  how  found  you  out  this  place? 

F.  B.  By  chance,  sweet  Queen,  as  Mars  and  Venus 
met. 

M.  Why  that  was  in  a  net,  while  we  are  loose. 

F.  B.  O  Margaret,  hast  come  indeed  to  me  ? 
Then  may  I  have  a  fitter  time  to  woo. 


988  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Lije 

I  love  thee — I  have  spoke  it — list  to  me  ! 

Aye !  above  thought  I  love  thee,  gentle  Queen. 

I  cannot  be  without  thy  company, 

Yet  cannot  see  thee  sad,  my  love :  lo,  here 

Upon  thy  cheek  the  stain  doth  sit  of  an  old  tear. 

Griefs  of  mine  own  lie  heavy  in  my  breast, 

Which  thou  wilt  propagate  to  have  it  prest 

With  more  of  thine ;  this  love  that  thou  hath  shown 

Doth  add  more  grief  to  too  much  of  mine  own, 

A«d  I  do  feel,  by  the  rebound  of  yours, 

A  grief  that  suits  my  very  heart  at  root. 

The  bitter  northern  wind  upon  the  plains, 

The  damps  that  rise  upon  the  queachy  plots, 

Nor  influence  of  contagious  air  should  touch, 

My  heart's  fair  flower,  my  dainty  Margaret. 

Better  a  metropolitan  city  were  sack'd, 

A  royal  army  overcome,  and  twenty-thousand 

Kings  should  perish,  than  that  thy  little  finger  ache. 

Thy  thoughts,  I  prithee,  sweet,  sweet  Queen  ? 

M.  I  was  about  to  tell  them,  when  my  heart, 
As  wedged  with  a  sigh,  would  rive  in  twain, 
Lest  Henry,  or  my  mother  should  perceive  me : 
I  have  (as  when  the  sun  doth  light  a-scorne) 
Buried  this  sigh  in  wrinkle  of  a  smile ; 
But  sorrow,  that  is  couch'd  in  seeming  gladness, 
Is  like  that  mirth,  Fate  turns  to  sudden  sadness. 

F.  B.  Tell  me,  sweet  Queen,  I  pray  thee  tell  me  all. 

"  She  turning  to  her  nurse  said  quietly  : — 

M.  You  may  withdraw,  good  Nurse. 
NUT.  I  will  withdraw  but  this  intrusion  shall, 
Now  seeming  sweet,  convert  to  bitter  gall. 


At  the  Court  of  France.  989 

M.  Oh  Francis,  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush. 
Be  thou  asham'd  that  I  have  took  upon  me, 
Such  an  immodest  raiment,  if  shame  live 
In  a  disguise  of  love  ?  I  could  no  less. 
It  is  the  lesser  blot  modesty  finds, 
Women  to  change  their  shapes,  than  men  their  minds. 

F.  B.  Than  men  their  minds  ?    'Tis  true  :  oh  heaven, 

were  man 

But  constant,  he  were  perfect ;  that  one  error 
Fills  him  with  faults :  makes  him  run  through  all  th'  sins ; 
Inconstancy  falls  off,  ere  it  begins. 
But  Margaret,  I  am  not  such  a  man, 
For  I  do  love  thee  faithfully  and  well. 

M.  Why  then  God  forgive  me. 

F.  B.  What  offence  sweet  Margaret  ? 

M.  You've  staid  me  in  a  happy  hour ;  I  was  about 
To  protest  I  lov'd  you. 

F.  B.  Do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

M.  But  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart, 
That  none's  left  to  protest,  my  gentle  lord. 

F.  B.  O  happy  shall  he  be  whom  Margaret  loves. 

M.  Then  never  say  that  thou  art  miserable, 
Because,  it  may  be,  thou  shalt  be  my  love. 
Boldness  comes  to  me  now,  and  brings  me  heart : 
Prince  Francis,  I  have  lov'd  you  night  and  day, 
For  many  weary  months. 

F.  B.  Why  was  my  Margaret  then  so  hard  to  win  ? 

M.  Hard  to  seem  won :  but  I  was  won,  my  lord, 
With  the  first  glance ;  that  ever  pardon  me, 
If  I  confess  much  you  will  play  the  tyrant: 
I've  come  to  join  with  thee,  and  leave  the  King. 
I'll  be  thine,  for  I  cannot  be  mine  own, 


990  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Nor  anything  to  any,  if  I  be  not  thine. 

I  dare  not  say  I  take  you,  but  I  give 

Me  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live 

Into  your  guiding  power :  this  is  the  man 

To  whom  I  promise  truest  fealty. 

You  see,  my  Prince  of  England,  where  I  stand, 

Such  as  I  am ;  though  for  myself  alone 

I  would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish, 

To  wish  myself  much  better,  yet  for  you, 

I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself, 

A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 

More  rich,  that  only  to  stand  high  in  your  account, 

I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 

Exceed  account.     Sweet,  bid  me  hold  my  tongue, 

For  in  this  rapture  I  shall  surely  speak 

The  thing  I  shall  repent;  see,  see,  your  silence 

Coming  in  dumbness,  from  my  weakness  draws 

My  soul  of  counsel  from  me.     Stop  my  mouth. 

F.  £.  And  shall,  albeit  sweet  music  issues  thence. 

M.  My  lord,  I  do  beseech  you  pardon  me, 
'Twas  not  my  purpose  thus  to  beg  a  kiss : 
I  am  asham'd ;  O  heavens,  what  have  I  done  ? 

F.  B.  I  had  good  argument  for  kissing  once. 

M.  But  that's  no  argument  for  kissing  now. 
For  this  time  will  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 

F.  B.  Your  leave,  sweet  Margaret  ? 

M.  Pray  you,  content  you. 

F.  B.  What  offends  you,  lady  ? 

M.  Sir,  my  own  company. 

F.  B.  You  cannot  shun  yourself. 

M'  Let  me  go  and  try. 
Perchance,  my  lord,  I  show  more  craft  than  love, 


At  the   Court  of  France.  991 

And  fell  so  roundly  to  a  large  confession, 
To  angle  for  your  thoughts  :  but  you  are  wise, 
Or  else  you  love  not ;  for  to  be  wise  and  love, 
Exceeds  man's  might, — that  dwells  with  gods  above. 

F.  B.  O  that  I  thought  it  could  be  in  a  woman — 
As  if  it  can,  I  will  presume  in  you — 
To  feed  for  aye  her  lamp  and  flames  of  love, 
To  keep  her  constancy  in  plight  and  youth, 
Out-living  beauties  outward,  with  a  mind 
That  doth  renew  swifter  than  blood  decays : 
Or  that  persuasion  could  but  thus  convince  me, 
That  my  integrity  and  truth  to  you, 
Might  be  affronted  with  the  match  and  weight 
Of  such  a  winnow'd  purity  in  love : 
How  were  I  then  uplifted,  but  alas, 
I  am  as  true  as  truth's  simplicity, 
And  simpler  than  the  infancy  of  truth. 

M.  In  that  I'll  war  with  you. 

F.  B.  O  virtuous  fight, 
When  right  with  right  wars  who  shall  be  most  right. 

M.  If  I  be  false,  or  swerve  a  hair  from  truth, 
When  time  is  old  and  hath  forgot  itself; 
When  water-drops  have  worn  the  stones  of  Paris  : 
And  blind  oblivion  swallow'd  cities  up ; 
And  mighty  states  characterless  are  grated 
To  dusty  nothing;  yet  let  memory, 
From  false  to  false,  among  false  maids  in  love, 
Upbraid  my  falsehood,  when  they've  said  as  false, 
As  air,  as  water,  as  wind,  as  sandy  earth ; 
As  fox  to  lamb ;  as  wolf  to  heifer's  calf; 
Pard  to  the  hind,  or  stepdame  to  her  son ; 
Yea,  let  them  say,  to  stick  the  heart  of  falsehood, — 


992  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

'As  false  as  Margaret.'     But  I  am  true 
And  to  be  plain,  I  think  there  is  not  half  a  kiss 
To  choose  who  loves  another  best,  my  Prince, 
For  never  gaz'd  the  moon  upon  the  water, 
As  you  do  stand  and  read  as  'twere  mine  eyes. 

F.  B.  You've  rightly  guess'd,  most  adrnir'd  Margaret, 
Indeed  the  top  of  admiration,  worth 
What's  dearest  to  the  world  :  full  many  a  lady 
I  have  ey'd  with  best  regard,  and  many  a  time 
Th'  harmony  of  their  tongues,  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women,  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow'd, 
And  put  it  to  the  foil.     But  you,  O  you, 
So  perfect,  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best.     O  sweet,  thou  art 
The  happiest  gift,  that  ever  man  did  give, 
The  fairest  Queen,  that  ever  King  receiv'd ! 
That  thou  art  fair,  is  most  infallible  : 
True  that  thou  art  beauteous,  truth  itself 
That  thou  art  lovely :  more  fairer  than  fair, 
Beautiful  than  beauteous,  truer  than  truth. 
Swift  fame  has  sounded  to  our  western  seas, 
The  matchless  beauty  of  fair  Margaret, — 
Fairer  than  was  the  nymph  of  Mercury, 
Who,  when  bright  Phoebus  mounteth  up  his  coach, 
And  tracks  Aurora  in  her  silver  steps, 
Doth  sprinkle  from  the  folding  in  her  lap, 
White  lilies,  roses  and  sweet  violets. 

M.  Will  you  then  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise 
Of  my  beauty  ? 


At  the  Court  of  France.  993 

F.  -5.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret, 
That  no  man  living  shall  come  over  it, 
For  in  most  comely  truth  thou  deserv'st  it. 
The  luster  in  your  eye,  heaven  in  your  cheek, 
Pleads  your  fair  visage,  and  unto  your  Prince 
You  shall  be  mistress,  and  command  him  wholly. 
We'll  sail  from-  hence  to  Greece,  to  lovely  Greece, 
I'll  be  thy  Jason,  thou  my  golden  fleece : 
Where  Bacchus'  vineyards  overspread  the  world, 
And  woods  and  forests  go  in  goodly  green, 
I'll  be  Adonis,  thou  shalt  be  Love's  Queen: 
The  meads  and  orchards  and  the  primrose  lanes, 
Instead  of  sedge  and  reeds  bear  sugar  canes ; 
Thou,  Margaret,  in  those  groves,  by  Dis  above, 
Shalt  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

M.  That  year  is  rare  that  ne'er  feels  winter's  storms, 
That  tree  is  fertile  which  ne'er  wanteth  fruit, 
And  that  same  Muse  hath  heaped  well  in  store, 
Which  never  wanted  clients  at  her  door. 
'Twere  sweet  indeed  to  find  eternal  spring, 
And  I  would  fain  this  moment  fly  with  thee, 
As  birds  that  seek  that  far  off  sunny  clime. 

F.  B.  But  know  thou,  Margaret,  thy  lover's  in  exile, 
So  that  he  that  is  born  to  a  great  kingdom,  hath 
Not  ground  to  set  his  foot  on,  more  than  this 
Where  he  now  standeth  by  thy  brother's  favor. 

M.  Francis,  behold  you,  when  the  surgent  seas 
Have  ebb'd  their  fill,  the  waves  do  rise  again 
And  fill  their  banks  up  to  the  watery  brims. 
At  first  I  wept  and  wail'd  my  state  with  fury, 
But  with  my  love  and  woman's  wit  I've  argued 
And  approv'd  it :  and,  Francis,  since  I  saw  thee, 


994  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Life 

Th'  affliction  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which 
I  fear  a  madness  held  me.     Now  'tis  gone, 
And  now  to  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

"  Here  nurse  comes  breathless  back  and  calls  to  her. 
With  her  dear  smile  to  me  she  sweetly  saith  : — 
'  Stay  but  a  little  I  will  come  again,' 
And  passed  on  to  conference  with  her  nurse. 
I  could  but  listen  to  their  dialogue 
For  every  word  was  so  impassioned. 

Nur.  Thou  must  be  gone,  lady,  thou  must  be  gone! 
Thou  must  unto  thy  mother,  and  be  gone 
From  Lord  Francis :  'twill  be  his  death :  'twill  be 
His  bane,  he  cannot  bear  it. 

M.  O  you  immortal  gods !     I  will  not  go. 

Nur.  Thou  must. 

M.  I  will  not,  Nurse ;  I  have  forgot  my  mother : 
I  know  no  touch  of  consanguinity : 
No  kin,  no  love,  no  blood,  no  soul,  so  near  me, 
As  this  sweet  Francis.     Nay,  i  will  not  go. 

"  When  she  return'd  to  me,  to  her  I  said  : — 

F.  B.  Lady,  give  me  your  hand,  and  as  we  walk, 
To  our  own  selves  bend  we  our  needful  talk. 
I  would  that  you  would  love  yourself,  sweet  Queen, 
And  in  that  love,  not  unconsider'd  leave 
Your  honour,  nor  the  dignity  you  bear. 

M.  These  things  seem  small  and  undistinguishable, 
Like  far  off  mountains  turned  into  clouds  : 
Me  thinks  I  see  things  with  a  parted  eye, 
When  everything  seems  double. 

F.  B.  Wouldst  be  the  aim  of  every  dangerous  shot  ? 


At  the  Court  of  France.  995 

A  sign  of  dignity?  a  breath?  a  bubble? 
A  queen  in  jest  only  to  fill  the  scene  ? 
More  bitterly  could  I  expostulate, 
Save  that  for  reverence  to  some  alive, 
I  give  a  sparing  limit  to  my  tongue. 
This,  Margaret,  is  the  point  of  my  petition ; 
And  now,  since  our  more  mature  dignities, 
And  royal  necessities,  make  separation 
Of  our  society,  our  encounters, 
Though  not  personal,  may  be  royally 
Attorney'd  with  an  interchange  of  gifts, 
Letters  and  loving  embassies,  that  we 
May  seem  to  be  together,  though  absent : 
Shake  hands  as  over  a  vast,  and  embrace, 
As  'twere,  from  the  ends  of  opposed  winds. 

M.  The  heavens  continue  our  loves. 

F.  B,  My  Queen,  I  think  there  is  not  in  the  world. 
Either  malice  or  matter  t'  alter  it. 

M.  Then  good,  my  lord,  take  to  your  royal  self 
This  proffer'd  benefit  of  dignity : 
Thy  love  did  read  by  rote  that  could  not  spell : 
How  often  have  I  told  you  'twould  be  thus  ? 
How  often  said  my  dignity  would  last 
But  till  'twere  known?     Francis,  that  time  is  now. 
The  _p_rovost  knows  ourjpurpose  and  our  j)lot, 
The  matter  being  afoot ;  keep  your  instruction, 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift, 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench  from  this  to  that 
As  cause  doth  minister :  his  nods  and  gestures 
Indeed  would  make  one  think  there  would  be  thought, 
Though  nothing  sure,  yet  much  unhappily. 

F.  B.  How  should  this  grow? 


1)06  Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Li)<' 

M.  I  know  not :  but  I  am  sure  'tis  safer  to 
Avoid  what's  grown,  than  question  how  ^tis  borne, 
Hence  counsel'd  I  care  of  my  dignity. 

"  Her  sight  did  ravish,  but  her  grace  in  speech, 
Her  words  yclad  with  wisdom's  majesty, 
Makes  me  from  wondering,  fall  to  weeping  joys, 
Such  is  the  fullness  of  my  heart's  content. 
To  her  I  said  : — 

F.  B.  It  cannot  fail,  but  by 
The  violation  of  my  faith,  and  then 
Let  nature  crush  the  sides  o'  th'  earth  together, 
And  mar  the  seeds  within.     Lift  up  thy  looks. 

M.  Be  advis'd. 

F.  B.  I  am  :  and  by  my  fancy,  if  my  reason 
Will  thereto  be  obedient :  I  have  reason : 
If  not,  my  senses  better  pleas'd  with  madness, 
Do  bid  it  welcome. 

M.  This  is  desperate,  sir. 

F.  B.  So  call  it :  but  it  does  fulfill  my  vow : 
I  needs  must  think  it  honesty.     Margaret, 
Not  for  all  England,  nor  the  pomp  that  may 
Be  thereat  glean'd :  for  all  the  sun  sees,  or 
The  close  earth  wombs,  or  the  profound  seas  hide 
In  unknown  fathoms,  will  I  break  my  oath 
To  this  my  fair  belov'd.     Dear  Margaret, 
I  cannot  make  you  what  amends  I  would, 
I  that  lead  discontented  steps  on  foreign  soil, 
Therefore  accept  such  kindness  as  I  can ; 
And  when  I'm  king  of  England,  gracious  Queen. 
Again  shalt  thou  be  wife  unto  a  king, 
And  all  the  ruins  of  distressful  times 


At  the  Court  of  Frn  ,,<•<•.  997 


Repair'd  with  double  riches  of  content. 

What  ?  we  have  many  goodly  days  to  see  : 

The  liquid  drops  of  tears  that  you  have  shed, 

Shall  come  again  transformed  to  orient  pearl, 

Advantaging  our  love  with  interest 

Of  ten-times  double  gain  of  happiness. 

But  now,  sweet  Queen,  hear  me  and  mark  me  well ; 

The  strong  necessity  of  time,  commands 

Our  services  awhile:  but  my  full  heart 

Remains  in  use  with  you.     Sweet,  my  affairs 

Do.  even  drag  me  homeward,  which  to  hinder, 

Were  (in  your  love)  a  whip  to  me;  my  stay, 

To  you  a  charge,  and  trouble :  to  save  both, 

Farewell.     Tongue-tied,  our  Queen  ?     Speak  you. 

M.  Pardonnez-moi,  I  do  not  understand. 
What  should  I  say,  my  lord  ? 

F.  B.  The  Queen  hath  sent  for  me. 

M.  Ah !  to  what  end  ? 

F.  B.  That,  she  must  teach  me  later. 

M.  Aye,  but  thou  shalt  not  go. 

F.  B.  I  must  not  break  my  faith : 
You  know  me  dutiful,  therefore  dear  Queen, 
Let  me  not  shame  respect ;  but  give  me  leave 
To  take  that  course  by  your  consent  and  voice, 
Which  you  do  here  forbid  me,  Margaret. 
But  let  me  conjure  you  by  all  the  rights 
Of  our  fellowship,  by  the  consonancy 
Of  our  youth,  by  the  obligation 
Of  our  ever-preserved  love,  and  too, 
By  what  more  dear  a  better  proposer 
Could  charge  you  withal,  be  you  true  to  me. 
And  Margaret,  I  pray  you  to  remember, 


998  Sir  Fr«in-i*   lexicon's  Life 

'Tis  not  of  my  own  will  I  go;  I  am  enforced. 

M.  Art  tied  to  her  affection,  my  dear  Prince, 
As  though  your  highness  were  a  school-boy  still, 
And  must  be  awed  and  govern'd  like  a  child  ? 

F.  B.  0  be  not  scornful,  gentle  Margaret, 
Indeed  with  all  unwillingness  I  go. 

M.  If  you  have  any  pity,  grace  or  manners, 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument. 
But  fare-ye  well,  'tis  partly  my  own  fault, 
Which  death  or  absence  soon  shall  remedy. 

F.  B.  Stay  gentle  Margaret,  hear  my  excuse, 
My  love,  my  life,  my  soul,  fair  Margaret. 

M.  O  excellent ! 

F.  B.  Sweet  Queen,  I  love  thee,  by  my  life  I  do, 
I  swear  by  that  which  I  will  lose  for  thee, 
To  prove  him  false  that  says  I  love  thee  not. 
Yet  I,  perforce,  must  now  take  leave  awhile. 
How  now  my  love  ?     Why  is  your  cheek  so  pale  ? 
How  chance  the  roses  there  do  fade  so  fast  ? 

M.  Belike  for  want  of  rain,  which  I  could  well 
Beteem  them,  from  the  tempest  of  mine  eyes. 

F.  B.  For  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth, 
But  either  it  was  different  in  blood. 

M.  O  cross !  too  high  to  be  enthrall'd  to  love. 

F.  B.  Or  else  misgraff^d,  in  respect  of  years. 

M.  O  spite !  too  old  to  be  engag'd  to  young. 

F.  B.  Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  merit. 

M.  O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eye. 

F.  B.  Or  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice, 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it ; 


At  the   Court  <>J   France.  999 

Making  it  momentary,  as  a  sound  : 

Swift  as  a  shadow,  short  as  any  dream, 

Brief  as  the  lightning  in  the  collied  night, 

That  (in  a  spleen)  unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth; 

And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say,  behold, 

The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up  : 

So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

M.  If  then  true  lovers  have  been  ever  crost, 
It  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny : 
I  am  undone,  there  is  no  living,  none, 
If  Francis  be  away.     It  were  all  one 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star,  - 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  far  above  me 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light, 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere ; 
Th'  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself: 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 
Must  die  for  love.     Thus  must  I,  Francis,  die, 
But  'tis  no  matter  since  thou  know'st  the  cause. 

F.  B.  Nay,  nay,  thou'lt  live  in  all  thy  sweetness,  love, 
And  within  three-score  days  I  vow  to  be 
With  thee  again,  if  destiny  restrain  me  not, 
Protesting  thine  e'er  to  remain  whilst  life  doth  last. 

M.  And  is  there  then  no  remedy  ?  must  you  depart  ? 

F.  B.  Let  me  unfold  the  many  and  great  reasons. 

M,  Nay,  pray  you,  seek  no  color  for  your  going 
But  bid  farewell  and  go ;  run  if  you  will : 
And  peace  attend  your  steps.     Go,  Francis,  go ; 
That  you  may  add  to  London's  dignity 
And  London's  dignity  may  add  to  yours. 
Throughout  the  world  is  lovely  London  fam'd 
So  far  as  any  sea  comes  in  with  tide, 


1000  Sir  f  rands  Bacon's  Life 

Whose  peace  and  calm  under  her  royal  Queen, 
Hath  long  been  such  as  like  was  never  seen. 
Yet  of  your  royal  presence,  I'll  adventure 
The  borrow  of  a  week,  my  love,  my  lord,  and  king. 

F.  B.  Nay  love,  I  can  no  longer  stay. 

M.  One  seve'night  longer. 

F.  B.  Very  sooth,  to-morrow. 

M.  We'll  part  the  time 
Between  us  then :  in  that  I'll  no  gain-saying. 

F,  B.  Margaret,  press  me  not  ('beseech  you)  so: 
There  is  no  tongue  that  moves ;  none,  none  i'th  world 
So  soon  as  yours,  could  win  me :  so  it  should  now, 
Were  there  necessity  in  your  request, 
Although  'twere  needful  I  denied  it. 

M.  You'll  stay  ? 

F.  B.  No,  madame. 

M.  Nay,  but  you  will  ? 

F.  B.  I  may  not,  verily. 

M.  Verily? 

You  put  me  off  with  limber  vows :  but  I, 
Though  you  would  seek  t'  unsphere  the  stars  with  oaths, 
Should  yet  say,  sir,  no  going :  verily 
You  shall  not  go ;  a  lady's  verily  is 
As  potent  as  a  lord's. 

F.  B.  I'm  irremovable  resolv'd  for  flight. 

M.  Resolv'd  for  flight  ?     That's,  well— the  better  best, 
Now  were  I  happy,  if  thy  going  I  could  frame 
To  serve  my  turn,  save  thee  from  danger,  do  thee  love 
And  honour,  yet  purchase  the  sight  again 
Of  that  unhappy  King,  my  master,  whom 
I  so  much  thirst  to  see.     I  must  away. 

F.  B.  Have  you  thought  on  a  place  whereto  you'll  go  ? 


At  the  Court  of  France.  1001 

M.  Not  any  yet : 

But  as  th'  unthought-on  accident  is  guilty 
To  what  we  wildly  do,  so  we  profess 
Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chance  and  flies, 
Of    every  wind  that  blows. 

F.  B.  Shall  I  bring  thee  on  thy  way? 

M.  No,  no,  sweet  sir. 

F.  B.  But  will  you  hear  the  King  ?   Is  my  love  sworn 
For  nought  ?     Quench  you  the  sparkle  new  begun  ? 

M.  Nay,  nay,  my  Prince ;  impute  my  foolish  words 
To  wayward  fickleness  and  idle  mood. 
I  love  you,  on  my  life,  and  hold  you  dear 
So  now  be  merry  and  employ  your  chiefest  thoughts 
To  courtship  and  such  fair  ostents  of  love 
As  shall  conveniently  become  you  there. 


*  Continued  in  Book  VI. 


"7 

/ 


/ 

/  vfV/ 


Jh^^i^ 


/^u**     C2-^»-* 


^^  o 


PUBLISHERS  NOTE. 


The  present  volume,  "The  Tragical  History  of  Our  Late 
Brother,  Earl  of  Essex,"  is  published  separately,  out  of  its 
consecutive  order,  being  complete  in  itself,  and  of  the  most 
thrilling  interest  and  historical  value,  that  it  may  be  the 
earlier  enjoyed  as  one  of  the  marvels  of  literature,  in  advance 
of  its  appearance  as  a  part  of  the  later  books  of  the  series  of 
Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Cipher  Writings. 

Like  its  immediate  predecessor,  "The  Tragedy  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,"  it  has  been  deciphered  from  the  Shakespeare 
Plays,  and  other  works  of  Bacon,  by  means  of  the  Cipher 
system,  discovered  by  Doctor  Owen,  through  which  the  hidden 
histories  are  being  brought  to  light. 

In  the  first  book  of  the  "  Cipher  Story,"  issued  in  October, 
1893,  was  the  astounding  statement  that  the  great  Chancillor 
was  the  son  of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of 
Leicester ;  and  that  Robert,  Earl  of  Essex,  was  his  brother. 
Corroboration  of  this  is  found  in  the  recently  published  British 
"Dictionary  of  National  Biography,"  Vol.  16,  page  114,  under 
the  heading  "  Dudley  : — 

"  Whatever  were  the  Queen's  relations  with  Dudley  before  his  wife's 
death,  they  became  closer  after.  It  was  reported  that  she  was  formally 
betrothed  to  him,  and  that  she  had  secretly  married  him  in  Lord  Pem- 
broke's house,  and  that  she  was  a  mother  already." — January,  1560-1. 

"In  1562  the  reports  that  Elizabeth  had  children  by  Dudley  were 
revived.  One  Robert  Brooks,  of  Devizes,  was  sent  to  prison  for  publish- 
ing the  slander,  and  seven  years  later  a  man  named  Marsham,  of 
Norwich,  was  punished  for  the  same  offence." 

This  Tragedy  confirms   the  statement. 

The  Comedy  referred  to  in  the  Prologue  is  now  being 
translated. 

"The  players  that  come  forth,  will  to  the  life  present 
The  pliant  men  that  we  as  masks  employ: 
An  excellent  device  to  tell  the  plot, 
And  all  our  cipher  practice  to  display." 

HOWARD  PUBLISHING  CO. 

March,  1895. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  work  of  deciphering  the  literature,  in  which  the  Cipher 
of  Sir  Francis  Bacon  is  found,  reveals  details  of  English  history 
of  wonderful  interest,  which  only  a  participant  in  the  events 
could  record.  Inwrought  into  this  literature  was  hidden  the 
"  Tragedy  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,"  embracing  Mary's  attempts 
to  gain  the  English  crown,  her  trial,  and  her  tragic  end,  written 
as  a  Play.  This  was  published  in  December,  1894,  and  has  been 
pronounced  a  masterpiece.  Portions  of  it  were  found  in  every 
play  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  and  in  the  writings  of  Spenser, 
Peele,  Greene,  Marlow,  Burton,  and  Francis  Bacon.  Although 
a  remarkable  production,  it  is  believed  to  be  the  first  of  Bacon's 
writings  of  historical  drama  in  Cipher,  and  it  is  chiefly  drawn 
from  the  earlier  works  and  plays,  before  they  were  re-written  and 
enlarged  in  1608—17-23,  incorporating  later  histories,  and  mat- 
ters of  profound  philosophical  significance. 

This  "  Tragedy  of  Essex,"  obtained  from  the  same  sources, 
is  a  later  production,  and  bears  the  impress  of  greater  skill,  more 
experience,  and  far  more  intense  personal  feeling.  In  it  are 
interwoven  most  important  passages  of  Bacon's  own  life.  It 
explains  Bacon's  participation  in  the  trial  and  conviction  of 
Essex,  who  had  been  his  benefactor,  and  the  seeming  ingratitude 
which  has  so  long  been  thought  a  blot  upon  the  fame  of  the 
Lord  High  Chancillor.  It  was  a  life  for  a  life!  Essex  was 
foredoomed  to  death.  The  Queen  sought  excuse  in  law  for  the 
deed  ;  her  commands  were  imperative  : — 

Queen.  *        *        Robert  Essex  was 
A  worthy  officer  i'  th'  wars,  but  insolent, 
O'er-come  with  pride,  ambitious  past  all  thinking, 
Self-loving,  and  affecting  one  sole  throne. 
Without  assistance. 


l-'i-'t i, '•;.•;  liacon.  O,  I  think  not  so.        *        * 

Q.  Villain  !  I'll  set  a  point  against  thy  breast. 
If  thou  dost  not  use  most  dear  employment 
In  what  I  further  shall  intend  to  do. 
By  heaven,  I  will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint, 
And  strew  a  hungry  churchyard  with  thy  limbs: 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage  wild, 
More  fierce  and  more  inexorable  far, 
Than  empty  tigers,  or  the  roaring  sea. 
Put  not  another  sin  upon  my  head, 
By  urging  me  to  fury.     O,  begone  !        *        * 

F.  B.  To  revenge  is  no  valor,  but  to  bear.        *        * 
To  be  in  anger,  is  impiety. 

Q.  But  who  is  born  that  is  not  angry? 
Weigh  but  the  crime  with  this. 

Blood  hath  bought  blood,  and  blows  have  answer'd  blows ; 
Strength  match'd  with  strength,  and  power  confronted  power: 
Both  are  alike,  and  both  alike  we  like: 
One  must  prove  greatest. 

F.  B.  Believe  this,  Madam, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  King's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Becomes  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace 
As  mercy  does.        *        * 

Q.  I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Essex'  sword ! 

*         *        In  the  name  o'  th'  people, 
And  in  the  power  of  us  their  Queen,  we 
Will  push  destruction  and  perpetual  shame 
Out  of  the  weak  door  of  our  fainting  land. 
See,  here  in  bloody  lines  we  have  set  down 
And  what  is  written  shall  be  executed  ; 
Your  brother  is  to  die,  as  his  offences 
Are  accounted  to  the  law. 

F.  B.  O  your  Grace, 

Are  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence? 
I  know  no  law,  Madam,  that  answering 
One  foul  wrong,  lives  but  to  act  another. 

Q.  Be  satisfied ; 
Your  treacherous  brother  dies  ;  be  content. 

F.  B.  Oh,  it  is  excellent,  your  Majesty, 
To  have  a  giant's  strength :   but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 

Q.  Peace,  peace  sir,  peace. 
Were  I  not  the  better  part  made  of  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present,  thou  traitor. 

*          Look  to  it,  thou  villain, 
Thy  life's  dependent  on  thy  brother's  death. 
Let  our  instruction  to  thee  be  thy  guide, 
Under  penalty  of  thine  own  false  head. 

F.  B.  I  do  partly  understand  your  meaning. 

Q.  Why  then,  go  get  thee  home,  thou  fragment  vile. 
Peruse  this  writing  here,  and  thou  shah  know 
' Tis  death  for  death,  a  brother  for  a  brother: 
Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure; 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  measure  still  for  measure. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

Scattered  through  the  Shakespeare  Plays  are  some  of  the 
most  beautiful  thoughts  and  poetic  conceptions,  which  have 
become  familiar  household  words.  But  they  are  fragmentary, 
and  interpolated  with,  and  surrounded  by,  irrelevant  and  incon- 
gruous matters,  neither  suggesting  them,  or  by  them  suggested. 
The  appearance  of  a  ghost  in  Hamlet  is  inconsistent  with 

The  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  borne 
No  traveller  returns. 

The  Cipher  gathers  these  fragments  together  in  proper  sequence, 
in  the  Prologue  to  this  Tragedy  of  Essex,  where  they  take  the 
form  of  a  soliloquy,  embodying  the  deepest  philosophy  concern- 
ing things  natural  and  spiritual,  temporal  and  eternal.  It  is  a 
retrospect,  and  a  wail  of  remorse,  as  well  as  a  speculation  as  to 
the  future  state.  This  wonderful  Prologue  can  only  be  measured 
from  the  point  of  view  of  its  author,  FRANCIS  BACON.  Lost  in- 
reminiscence  and  contemplation,  he  weighs  that  destiny  which 
has  been  beyond  his  control, 

Which  hath  the  primal  curse  upon  it,  a  brother's  murder. 
To  the  Seven  Ages  of  Man,  so  well  known  as  an  epitome  of 
human  life,  the  Cipher  adds  another,  which  rounds  out  and  fin- 
ishes the  story  with  the  "  exit,"  from  human  view,  of  all  that  is 
mortal. 

Last  scene  of  all 

That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 

The  old  man  dies  ;  and  on  the  shoulders  of  his  brethren 

To  the  heavy  knolled  bells  is  borne, 

In  love  and  sacred  pity,-  through  the  gates 

Of  the  holy  edifice  of  stone,  where  all  in  white 

The  goodly  vicar  meets  them  and  doth  say : — 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life  ;" 

And  then  doth  mount  the  pulpit  stairs  and  doth  begin  :— 

"  0  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  wretched  sinners  ! " 

The  people  answering  cry  as  with  one  voice : — 

"  O  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  wretched  sinners  ! " 

Then  through  the  narrow  winding  church-way  paths, 

With  weary  task  foredone,  under  the  shade 

Of  melancholy  boughs,  gently  set  down 

Their  venerable  burden,  and  from  the  presence 

Of  the  sun  they  lower  him  into  the  tomb, 

To  sleep,  perchance  to  dream  ;  aye,  there's  th'  rub, 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come, 

When  we  have  shuffl'd  off  this  mortal  coil, 


Must  give  us  pause.     To  die,  to  sleep,  to  dream 
No  more  ;  and  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to,  is  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.     For  in  our  graves, 
After  life's  fitful  fever,  one  sleeps  well. 


But  for  our  conscience  then,  we'ld  rear  our  hand 

And  play  the  Roman  fool  and  die  on  our  own  sword : 

We,  with  three  inches'of  this  obedient  steel, 

No  better  than  the  earth  ourselves  could  make. 

O  what  a  sleep  were  this,  if  'twere  perpetual ! 

But  there's  a  prohibition  so  divine 

Against  self-slaughter,  in  the  Holy  Scripture, 

It  cravens  our  weak  hand  and  doth  return 

The  sword  obedient  to  the  scabbard. 

The  decipherer  can  understand  perhaps  better  than  another, 
the  feeling  that  the  translated  text  lacks  some  of  the  qualities 
called  Shakespearean.  The  Plays  are  full  of  ambiguous  incon- 
gruities and  obscure  allusions  that  have  the  charm  of  mystery, 
and  excite  wonder  at  the  genius,  that  from  such  distant  and 
widely  scattered  sources  could  draw  its  inspiration.  The 
commentators  have  failed  to  explain  them.  When,  however 
these  expressions  are  segregated,  and  rounded  out  by  the 
additions  which  the  Cipher  brings  from  the  other  works,  they 
become  smooth,  reasonable,  and  historically  accurate,  and  the 
great  thoughts  of  that  great  constructive  genius,  the  author 
of  them  all,  are  presented  in  their  primal  form. 

ORVILLE  W.  OWEN. 

Detroit,  February,  1895. 


Synopsis  of  "  The  Tragical  Historic  of  the  Earl  of  Essex." 

PROLOGUE. 

ACT  I. — Scent  i. — Horns  and  trumpets  sound.     Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  with  hounds  and  dogs,  returning 
from  hunt      Queen  and  Huntsman.      Enter  Earl  of  Essex  and  Francis   Bacon. 
Queen  dismisses  attendants.    Essex  announces  insurrection  in  Ireland. 
Scene  2— Palace.    Stormy  discussion  over  assignment  of  commander  of  forces  for  Ireland. 
Queen  to  Essex  :     "  Take  thou  that."    (Boxes  his  ears.) 
Essex  assays  to  draw  his  sword  ;  defies  her  and  leaves  in  a  rage. 
Queen  relents,  and  sends  the  Admiral  and  Cecil  to  call  him  back 
Scene  j. — Cecil,  Solus.     Enter  Essex ;  the  quarrel  and  blow. 
Scene  4. — Queen  and  Cecil.    Prayer  of  the  Queen  : 

"  /  that  never  weep,  now  melt  with  woe. 
That  my  ungracious  son  doth  hate  me  so.'' 

Scenes- — Lady  Essex  warns  the  Earl  against  Cecil.  Bacon  and  Essex.   Rival  claimsto  the  Crown 
ACT  n.— Scene  i. — Elizabeth  and  Lords.    Queen  announces  that  Essex  will  go  to  Ireland. 
Dismisses  all  but  Essex,  to  whom  she  promises, 

"     *      *      *      *     The  next  degree  shall  be 
England's  royal  throne,  for  King  of  England 
Shall  you  be  proclaimed  in  every  borough." 
Scene  2. — Essex  ;  outlines  his  puposes  in  Ireland. 
Scene  3.— Essex  and  Bacon  ;  farewell. 
ACT  ill— Scene  /.—Cecil  tells  the  Queen  that  Essex  is  returning  with  an  army. 

Scene  2. — Elizabeth  walks  in  her  sleep.    Her  horrible  dream.    Queen  and  ladies  in  prayeV. 
Scene  j.—  Bed  chamber  of  Queen  ;  noisy  arrival  of  Essex.    The  Queen  bids  that  he  be  admitted. 
"  Bless  thee,  my  blessed  boy, 
*  *  * 

Then,  sir,  withdraw,  and  in  an  hour  return''1 

Ladies  in  waiting  dress  the  Queen  in  handsome  robes.    Essex  returns  ;  Queen  embraces  him 
He  discourses  of  Ireland  and  claims  the  Dukedom  of  York.    (Exit.)    Enter  Cecil,  who 
frightens  the  Queen  with  false  reasons  for  Essex's  sudden  return. 
Scene  4. — Bacon  tells  Essex  of  Cecil's  intrigues,  and  bids  him  fly  to  France.     Enter  Queen  ; 

Shows  displeasure  at  Essex's  return,  and  bids  him  go  to  his  home. 
ACT  rv. — Scene  /.—Council  Chamber.     Queen  informs  Essex  he  must  appear  before  the  Council. 

*  "     But  if,  sir, 

You  be  put  in  bondage,  appeal  to  us. 
And  deliver  us  this  ring.         *        * 
Essex  before  the  Council.     Insults  Cecil. 

Scene  2.— Essex  commanded  to  close  confinement  in  his  house. 
Scene  j. — Quarrels  with  his  brother  Francis  Bacon. 

Scene  4. — Queen  and  Bacon.    Bacon  pleads  for  Essex.    Interrupted  by  news  of  Essex's  revolt. 
Scene  j.— Gate  of  Essex's  House.    Lords  demand  his  surrender  ;  Essex's  soldiers  surround  and 

take  them  away. 

Scene  6.— Street  in  London.     Essex  endeavors  to  incite  the  mob  to  burn  and  plunder. 
Scene  7. — Front  of  Essex's  House — Essex  on  walls.    Alarms  and  clash  of  arms.    Summoned  to 

parley  ;  descends ;  is  arrested  and  conveyed  to  the  Tower. 
Scene  S.— Palace. 

Queen.     "  Where  is  the  Earl  >  " 
Cecil.     "/»  the   Tower,  Your  Grace." 
ACT  v. — Scene  /.—Order  for  the  trial  of  Essex. 

Scene  2.— Queen  and  Francis  Bacon  ;  plea  for  pardon  of  Essex. 
Queen.     "  Your  treacherous  brother  dies!        * 
****** 

Thy  lifers  dependent  on  thy  brother's  death. 
Let  our  instruction  to  thee  be  thy  guide, 
Under  the  penalty  of  thine  own  false  head. 
****** 

Peruse  this  -writing  here,  and  thou  shalt  know 
'  Tis  death  for  death,  a  brother  for  a  brother^ 
Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure: 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  measure  still  for  measure." 

Scenes. — Star  Chamber.    Trial  of  Essex.    He  denounces  Cecil.    Essex  condemned  to  execution. 
Scene  4. — Streets  of  London.     Essex  under  guard  ;   axe,  edge  toward  him  ;  led  to  dungeon. 
Scene 5.— Garden  of  Palace.    Lady  Essex  and  child  before  the  Queen  ;  pleads  for  Essex's  life. 
Francis  Bacon  supports  her  and  supplicates  the  Queen,  without  result. 

Queen,        *  *         "  Til  see  that  he 

Be  executed  by  nine  to-morrow  morning" 
Scene  6.— Dungeon. 

Essex.     "  No  bending  knee  will  call  me  C&sar  now,"     (Enter  Bacon.) 
O  thou  damn1 'd  cur;  ^ 

Whom  to  call  brother  would  infect  my  mouth. 
Get  thee  gone,  thou  most  wicked  sir/ 
***** 

Bacon.     "Is  it  my  fault  that  I  was  forced  to  plead  ? 

How  much  thou  wrongst  me.  Heaven  be  my  judge  " 

Essex  upbraids  him  with  sharpest  scorn.    Enter  Lord  Keeper  ;  commands  Bacon  to  depart  , 
gives  commission  to  jailor.    Jailors  bind  Essex  in  a  chair  ;  show  him  the  order. 

"Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  my  eyes  ? 

Cut  out  my  tongue  so  that  I  may  still  keep 

Both  mine  eyes  "    (Jailor  tears  out  one  eye,  then  the  other.) 

'"All  dark  and  comfortless! 

God  enkindle  all  the  sparks  of  nature 

To  quit  this  horrid  act  !" 

Jailor,     "Away  with  hint/  iead*hiin  to  the  block  .'" 


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